f 


,  '/          '  fi  AJp      $  /• 

>L  U    t  ,   '  f-^r  'f 


^  ' 


1  Y  E  T  I  S, 


WITH    OTHER 


ETCHINGS   AND   SKETCHINGS. 


MRS.    L.    H.    SIGOURNEY. 


NEW    YORK: 

HARPER    &   BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS, 
82   CLIFF   STREET. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1846,  by 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


GEORGE  GRIFFIN,  ESQ.,  LLD,, 

A  FRIEND  TO  THE  LITERATURE  OF  HIS  COUNTRY, 

AS  WELL  AS  AN  ELOQUENT  SUPPORTER 

OF    HER    LAWS, 


Volume  Is  JicUfcatetr, 


WITH    THE    GRATITUDE    AND     RKSPECT    OF 


ITS  AUTHOR. 


2051391 


PREFACE, 


MY  publishers,  whose  judgment  I  hold  in  high 
regard,  indicate  that  there  should  be  a  Preface. 
It  might  not  be  entirely  courteous  to  the  reader 
to  omit  it.  So,  as  I  have  great  respect  for  my 
readers  also,  there  shall  surely  be  a  Preface. 
Yet,  as  I  have  little  to  say,  I  trust  to  be  excused 
if  I  say  little,  and  if  that  little  should  not  be  re 
markable. 

Portions  of  this  volume,  in  other  forms,  the 
public  have  already  seen.  Still,  I  flatter  my 
self,  they  may  not  be  wholly  unworthy  of  an 
other  interview ;  since  it  is  a  poor  face  that  will 
not  bear  twice  looking  at.  With  other  parts,  it 
is  not  possible  they  should  be  acquainted,  as  I 
have  been  but  recently  introduced  myself.  But 
I  am  doubtful  whether  the  new  will  be  found 
better  than  the  old.  And  as  housekeepers  are 
wont  to  apologize  for  presenting  the  same  dish 
1* 


M  Y  E  T  I  S. 


"  Lo  !  darkest  hours  wring  forth  the  hidden  might 
That  hath  lain  bedded  in  the  secret  soul, 
A  treasure  all  undream' d  of:  as  the  night 
Calls  forth  the  harmonies  of  streams  that  roll 
Unheard  by  day.'1 

MRS.  HEM  ASS 


M  Y  R  T  I  S, 


TWILIGHT  gathered  heavily  over  the  city  of  the 
Caesars.  Lights  began  here  and  there  to  glimmer 
from  the  patrician  palaces,  and  along  the  banks  of 
the  Tiber.  Rome,  which  Augustus  boasted  to  have 
left  built  of  marble,  had  lost  none  of  its  magnifi 
cence  under  Adrian  and  the  Antonines.  Effeminacy 
and  corruption  were  sapping  the  foundations  of  the 
empire,  though  the  virtue  of  the  last  of  the  Antonines 
still  arrested  or  disguised  the  presages  of  its  doom. 

In  the  gorgeous  apartment  of  a  palace  a  woman 
was  seated,  evidently  of  high  rank,  and  surrounded 
by  the  appliances  of  luxury.  Her  arm  rested  on  a 
small,  oval  table,  richly  inlaid  with  ivory  and  gold, 
while  her  jeweled  hand  partly  shaded  her  features, 
as  if  to  conceal  some  emotion,  in  which  Roman  pride 
contended  with  woman's  nature. 

Her  eye  was  intently  fixed  on  a  young  man  who 
stood  near  her,  arrayed  as  if  for  a  journey.  The 
folds  of  the  toga  fell  gracefully  around  his  lofty  form, 
and  his  noble  countenance  was  marked  by  thought 
even  to  sadness.  He  appeared  to  wait  her  words, 
which  at  length  were  slowly  uttered. 

"  Go,  then,  my  son,  since  the  gods  and  the  emperor 
have  thus  willed  it.  Would  that  this  trial  might  have 


4  M  V  R  T  I  S. 

been  spared  my  widowed  heart.  Yet  go,  for  the  hour 
of  thy  departure  hath  come." 

The  young  Roman  knelt  at  her  feet,  and  pressed 
her  hands  to  his  lips.  His  voice  was  scarcely  aud 
ible  as  he  besought  her  blessing. 

"  The  gods  of  thy  fathers  will  not  forget  thee.  My 
vows  shall  keep  thee  ever  in  their  mind.  Already 
have  the  salted  cake,  and  a  pure  lamb  crowned  with 
flowers,  been  offered,  with  costly  libations,  for  thy 
sake.  I  have  vowed  to  Apollo  a  rich  temple  if  thou 
return  in  safety.  Daily  shall  the  Lares  and  Penates 
be  invoked  for  thy  protection  in  a  far  clime." 

Then,  determining  not  to  weaken  his  purpose  by 
vain  regrets,  she  arose,  and  threw  all  the  strength  of 
a  loving  soul  into  the  farewell  smile.  There  was  no 
tear  in  her  eye,  and  she  trembled  not  at  the  last,  long 
embrace. 

He  departed.  She  listened  to  the  echo  of  his  foot 
steps,  and  gazed  to  catch  the  last  glimpse  of  him  and 
of  his  train.  Then  burst  forth  the  sorrows  of  the 
mother.  She  dismissed  her  attendants,  that  no  eye 
might  witness  her  grief.  Only  the  surrounding  stat 
ues  beheld  her  with  their  marble  brows.  But  the 
frown  of  warriors  or  philosophers  from  their  pedes 
tals  reproved  her  in  vain.  She  remembered  only  that 
she  was  a  mother,  and  desolate. 

Day  was  high  in  the  heavens  ere  she  arose  from 
the  couch,  where,  in  the  anguish  of  parting,  she  had 
thrown  herself,  burying  her  face  deep  among  the 
pillows.  The  Emperor  Marcus  Aurelius  was  an- 


M  Y  R  T  I  S.  5 

nounced,  and  she  started  from  her  wildering  trance 
as  one  ashamed.  Hastily  she  arranged  her  disor 
dered  robes,  and  washed  the  traces  of  the  burning 
sorrow  from  cheek  and  brow. 

Calm,  serene,  and  like  a  habitant  of  a  higher  sphere, 
Marcus  Aurelius  entered.  That  philosophic  emper 
or,  who,  according  to  the  creed  of  the  Stoics,  was 
never  known  to  change  countenance,  either  for  grief 
or  joy,  regarded  her  steadfastly,  yet  without  reproach. 
He  saw  how  deeply  flowed  the  inward  tide  of  emo 
tion,  and  seemed  to  await  its  ebbing  ere  he  spoke. 

"  Thy  son  hath  gone  forth  on  a  noble  mission,  to 
gain  the  wisdom  and  philosophy  of  Greece.  He  is 
an  honor  to  thee,  and  to  the  manes  of  his  father. 
Deeply  wouldst  thou  hereafter  have  reproached  thy 
self  hadst  thou  withheld  him  by  the  weakness  of  love 
from  this  discipline,  so  essential  to  a  finished  educa 
tion.  Had  I  not  beheld  in  ^lius  Marcellus  so  much 
of  noble  promise,  I  had  not  prompted  him  to  the  ef 
fort,  nor  thee  to  this  sacrifice." 

"  Sire  !  emperor  !  Thou  art  ever  good,  and  thy 
wisdom  shall  be  our  guide.  From  earliest  remem 
brance  thine  affection  was  my  chief  treasure.  In 
widowhood,  thou  hast  been  a  solace  and  protector; 
to  my  only  child,  more  than  a  father." 

Tender  recollections  stirred  anew  the  fountain  of 
grief.  Her  compressed  lips  quivered,  and  she  burst 
into  a  passion  of  tears. 

"  Annia  Cornificia,  my  sister,  pray  unto  the  gods. 
Offer  sacrifices  for  thine  absent  son ;  and  for  me 
A  2 


6  M  Y  R  T I S. 

also,  not  so  happy  as  to  be  bound,  like  him,  to  the 
sweet  fields  of  heaven-born  philosophy,  but  to  the 
banks  of  the  Danube,  to  quell  an  insurrection  of  the 
barbarians.  Rest  and  contemplation  are  most  sweet ; 
yet  I  shrink  not  from  privation  or  peril.  Comfort 
Faustina  in  my  absence,  and  throw  the  mantle  of  thy 
tender  virtues  over  the  boy  Commodus.  Let  thy 
wounded,  maternal  love  expand  itself  on  him.  So 
shall  it  find  healing,  and  bear  fruit  worthy  of  the 
gods." 

The  ardent  woman  felt  the  channel  of  her  grief 
divided.  The  all-absorbing  image  of  her  absent  and 
only  child  faded  for  a  time  in  sympathy  for  her  im 
perial  brother,  and  she  fondly  expressed  her  appre 
hensions  for  his  safety. 

"  The  life  of  man,"  he  said,  "  is  but  a  vapor.  What 
folly  to  seek  to  preserve  that,  and  neglect  those  du 
ties  in  which  alone  is  its  happiness.  If  I  return  no 
more,  my  sister,  shed  not  such  passionate  tears  for 
me  as  thou  hast  shed  at  the  parting  of  thy  son ;  for 
when  this  little  voyage  is  over,  and  we  reach  the 
shore,  shall  we  not  get  calmly  out  of  the  ship  into 
another  life  ]  Are  not  the  gods  there  ?"  His  voice 
deepened  as  he  added  : 

"  Annia  Cornificia,  my  sister,  if  it  be  my  lot  to  die 
among  the  barbarians,  I  commend  unto  thee  the 
Prince  Commodus.  Remind  him  of  what  he  owes 
to  the  people  of  Rome,  and  to  the  memory  of  his 
father.  Teach  him  that  he  who  restrains  not  his  own 
passions  can  never  rule  a  realm  justly  or  with  pros- 


MYRTIS.  7 

perity.  I  charge  thee,  let  thy  son  freely  associate 
with  him,  that  through  his  example  the  follies  that  T 
fear  may  be  repressed." 

The  imperial  father,  who  seemed  to  have  before 
his  eyes  some  prophetic  vision  of  the  turpitude  of  his 
successor,  listened  with  complacency  to  the  promises 
of  his  sister,  that  his  wishes  should  be  held  sacred; 
and,  taking  an  affectionate  leave,  soon  departed  with 
his  legions  to  subdue  the  rebellious  tribes  of  the  Q,ua- 
di  and  Marcomani. 

Among  the  ti'ibutaries  to  Roman  power,  Greece 
stood  like  a  temple,  dismantled,  yet  beautiful.  The 
wrath  of  conquest  had  crushed  some  of  its  fairest 
columns,  and  stripped  the  acanthus  leaf  from  their 
capitals.  Yet  the  divinity  had  not  forsaken  its  shrine. 
The  whispers  of  an  eloquent  philosophy,  to  which 
the  world  had  knelt,  still  drew  votaries  from  distant 
climes,  and  the  sons  of  her  haughty  victor  came  as 
pilgrims  to  linger  and  to  listen  amid  the  groves  of 
the  Academe. 

At  the  period  which  we  contemplate,  Athens  had 
arisen  from  her  deepest  degradation.  The  intellect 
ual  and  magnificent  Adrian  had  taken  her  by  the 
hand,  and  striven  to  efface  the  ravages  of  his  prede 
cessors.  Antoninus  Pius  and  his  successor  sought 
to  restore  her  fallen  dignity.  Many  of  her  desecra 
ted  edifices  had  been  rebuilt,  and  her  privileges  re 
stored. 

Still  the  footstep  of  the  Roman  made  but  harsh 
echo  among  her  shades.  Though  reinstated  in  her 


8  M  Y  R  T I  S. 

seat  of  honor,  it  was  with  a  melancholy  brow  and  a 
shuddering  heart.  On  the  hope  held  before  her,  she 
gazed  like  the  pale  planet,  drooping  from  the  recent 
deluge,  remembering  rather  the  bitterness  of  the  wa 
ters,  than  the  promise  on  the  prismed  cloud,  that  she 
should  be  submerged  no  more. 

Yet  it  was  not  held  a  slight  honor  in  Athens,  that 
among  the  noble  youths  whom  the  study  of  arts  and 
letters  attracted  to  her  clime,  should  be  the  favored 
relative,  perhaps  the  presumptive  heir  of  him,  who 
wore  the  imperial  purple.  Marcus  Aurelius  Anto 
ninus,  whose  own  intense  love  of  philosophy  had 
been  imbibed  from  the  Greek  sages  who  instructed 
his  youth,  had  decided  that  the  mind  of  his  nephew 
should  be  enriched  by  the  same  lore,  gathered  in  its 
own  native  soil ;  and  overruled,  as  we  have  already 
seen,  the  reluctance  of  his  solitary  sister  to  the  con 
sequent  separation. 

The  virtues  and  accomplishments  of  JElius  Mar- 
cellus  fully  justified  the  affection  of  his  mother,  and 
the  earnest  cares  of  the  emperor,  who,  disgusted  with 
the  vices  of  his  colleague  Lucius  Verus,  and  inly 
shuddering  at  the  developments  of  his  son  Commo- 
dus,  perhaps  coupled  with  the  training  of  his  neph 
ew,  the  future  prosperity  of  the  realm. 

It  was  an  autumnal  evening  when  the  young  and 
noble  traveler  first  entered  Athens.  A  liquid  moon 
light  bathed  her  towers,  and  heightened,  like  the  sil 
ver  veil  of  the  bride,  the  beauty  of  her  sculpture. 
But  the  proud  and  enthusiastic  stranger  contempla- 


M  Y  R  T  I S.  9 

ted  with  disappointment  that  melancholy  symmetry. 
He  turned  dissatisfied  even  from  the  Acropolis  and 
the  Parthenon,  with  their  coronet  of  moonbeams,  and 
sought  some  counterpart  for  the  Coliseum,  some  sub 
stitute  for  those  ranges  of  patrician  structures  which 
clothed  with  gorgeousness  the  eternal  city.  Patri 
otism  swelled  his  bosom,  while  his  thoughts  recur 
red  to  Rome,  portraying  her  as  she  lay  that  night  in 
queenly  repose,  conscious  that  at  her  wakening  the 
world  would  be  at  her  feet. 

Such  were  his  feelings  as  he  looked  on  Athens  in 
the  garb  of  Autumn  ;  yet  the  young  vernal  moon 
had  scarcely  filled  her  horn  ere  a  change  stole  over 
his  spirit.  No  longer  he  trod  those  streets  with  the 
haughty  consciousness  of  being  one  of  the  masters 
of  the  world.  The  solemn  beauty  of  fallen  Greece, 
the  antiquity  of  her  lore,  softened  and  subdued  him. 
Yielding  to  the  enchantment  of  her  eloquence  who 
breathed  her  antique  history  on  the  harp,  he  made 
the  pages  of  Herodotus  the  companion  of  his  pillow, 
or  inhaled,  amid  the  murmurings  of  Ilissus,  the  sweet 
ness  of  the  Doric  muse. 

But  most,  the  enthusiasm -of  philosophy  stole  into 
and  ruled  his  soul.  He  communed  with  the  shade 
of  Plato,  as  with  a  visible  friend,  in  those  gardens 
where  his  voice  still  lingered,  an  imprisoned  mel 
ody.  The  sculpture  which  he  had  once  passed  with 
indifference,  now  stood  forth  in  severe  sublimity,  the 
sad  and  silent  statues  seemed  to  beckon  and  com 
mune  with  him,  till  he  felt  that  it  was  better  to  sigh 


10  MYRTIS. 

in  Athens  than  to  reign  in  Rome.  The  new  atmos 
phere  breathed  on  him  like  magic,  enkindling  a  new 
existence. 

Yet  was  it  not  solely  the  scenery  of  Greece,  nor 
the  exquisite  symmetry  of  her  architecture,  nor  the 
charm  of  her  language,  nor  the  ideal  presence  of  her 
sages,  that  enchained  the  heart  of  the  young  Roman. 
The  touch  of  pity  and  the  breathings  of  philosophy 
prepared  it  for  another  guest.  Love  had  been  to  it 
like  the  angel  at  the  Pool  of  Bethesda,  and  its  troub 
led  fountains  were  gushing  upward  with  strange  un- 
tasted  streams.  His  favorite  instructor  in  philoso 
phy  was  Demetrius,  a  follower  of  Plato.  He  pos 
sessed  a  serene,  contemplative  character,  and  an  in 
nate  eloquence,  which  delighted  the  intellectual  and 
ardent  disciple.  The  liberality  of  the  Antonines  had 
placed  the  teachers  of  philosophy  beyond  the  reach 
of  want.  Their  restricted  finances  no  longer  justi 
fied  the  caustic  reply  of  Diogenes  to  the  question 
"  why  philosophers  followed  rich  men,  and  not  rich 
men  philosophers  1" — "  because  one  know  what  they 
have  need  of,  and  the  others  do  not." 

The  house  of  Demetrius  was  adorned  with  taste, 
and  ^Elius  Marcellus  was  there  a  distinguished  guest. 
He  was  pleased  to  study  the  manners  of  the  sage  in 
his  own  home,  and  to  perceive  how  beautifully  they 
confirmed  the  theory  of  their  common  master,  that 
"  happiness  is  the  fruit  of  virtue."  He  could  not  but 
remark  how  the  spirit  of  Attic  grace  modified  even 
the  most  common  household  utensils.  The  lamps, 


MYRTIS.  11 

the  pitchers,  the  vases,  illustrated  the  taste  of  Peri 
cles.  The  very  slave,  who  bore  on  his  head  a  bas 
ket  of  grapes,  the  young  female,  who  presented  the 
ewer  of  water  for  ablution,  gave  the  rudiment  of 
those  attitudes  which  guided  the  chisel  of  Phidias. 
Then  the  Roman  learned  that  the  nation  which  would 
be  perfect  in  the  arts  must  take  the  graces  home  to 
its  hearth-stone,  and  make  for  them  a  place  at  its 
board,  an  indwelling  amid  its  domestic  sanctities. 

But  the  most  exquisite  specimen  of  grace  in  the 
household  of  the  philosopher  was  a  maiden  of  the 
noblest  blood  of  Athens,  who,  by  the  affliction  of  or 
phanage,  had  passed  under  his  protection.  She,  with 
an  infant  sister,  had  been  bequeathed  by  their  parents 
to  the  charge  of  Demetrius,  a  distant  relative,  and  a 
friend  in  whom  such  high  confidence  was  wisely  re 
posed.  Over  the  fortune  of  the  orphans,  which  was 
considerable,  he  exercised  a  paternal  care,  and  they 
entwined  around  his  aged  heart  like  the  ivy,  cover 
ing  it  with  the  fresh  green  of  hope. 

Myrtis  was  one  of  those  beautiful  creations  which 
fancy  sometimes  forms  when  her  revery  has  been 
among  seraphs.  Her  sylph-like  step,  her  smile,  im 
parting  happiness,  without  seeming  to  expect  it  again, 
her  manner,  gentle  almost  to  pensiveness,  finely  ac 
corded  with  features  formed  on  the  most  perfect 
Grecian  model,  with  a  complexion  transparent  as 
light,  and  eyes  often  downcast,  but  never  raised,  and 
quickened  by  speech,  without  interesting  or  affecting 
the  beholder.  Unoccupied  with  self,  and  ever  seek- 


12  MYRTIS. 

ing  to  promote  the  enjoyment  of  others,  she  evinced 
gratitude  to  her  protector  by  the  most  affectionate 
deportment,  by  skill  in  the  arrangement  of  his  house 
hold,  and  attention  to  the  comfort  of  his  guests. 

But  it  was  more  particularly  in  intercourse  with 
her  little  sister,  the  sole  surviving  scion  of  their  an 
cient  house,  that  the  fullness  of  her  soul  was  poured 
'forth.  To  enrich  her  unfolding  mind  with  the  treas 
ures  of  knowledge,  to  fashion  her  docile  dispositions, 
to  supply  to  her  the  place  of  the  mother  who  had  died 
at  her  birth,  were  the  highest  efforts  and  purest  pleas 
ures  of  her  existence.  It  was  this  sweet  illustration 
of  the  sisterly  virtues,  which,  more  than  any  symmetry 
of  form  or  feature,  won  the  heart  of  the  young  noble. 
He  had,  indeed,  admired  her  exquisite  beauty,  but 
with  such  lineaments  he  had  been  familiar  among 
the  patrician  daughters  of  Rome.  It  was  not  till  the 
grace  of  a  lovely  and  sublime  spirit  looked  through 
and  gave  life  to  it,  that  he  felt  it  to  be  irresistible. 
He  saw  her  toiling  with  an  earnest  eye,  to  simplify 
and  adapt  the  precepts  of  wisdom  to  the  compre 
hension  of  a  child  of  eight  summers,  or  cheering  her 
to  playfulness  by  merry  music,  or,  with  a  mixture  of 
maternal  pride,  wreathing  fresh  vine-leaves  among 
her  luxuriant,  golden  curls. 

It  was  thus  that  ^Elius  Marcellus,  the  favored  rel 
ative  of  an  emperor,  the  unmoved  idol  of  the  more 
ambitious  beauties  of  Rome,  became  the  willing  cap 
tive  of  an  artless  Athenian  maiden.  His  letters  to  his 
mother  gradually  assumed  the  coloring  of  the  image 


MYRTIS.  13 

that  absorbed  him.  If  he  began  a  synopsis  of  the 
lectures  of  the  philosophers,  it  suddenly  diverged 
to  Myrtis ;  his  praise  of  the  perfect  language  of 
Greece  took  the  name  of  Myrtis  as  a  key-tone  ;  and 
if  he  attempted  a  description  of  that  architecture 
which  the  world  will  never  be  too  old  to  admire,  it 
was  transformed  into  an  encomium  on  Myrtis. 

He  was  surprised  at  the  ease  with  which  his 
thoughts  arrayed  themselves  in  a  Grecian  garb.  Con 
versations  with  Myrtis,  in  which  he  was  as  frequently 
indulged  as  the  somewhat  reserved  courtesies  of 
Athens  admitted,  untwisted  the  idiom  of  a  foreign 
dialect,  and  taught  it  to  "  run  smoothly  o'er  the  lip," 
as  the  accents  which  a  mother  softens  for  her  babe. 
And,  apart  from  the  necromancy  of  love,  he  who 
would  so  conquer  the  difficulties  of  a  new  language 
as  to  speak  it  with  fluency  and  grace,  should  seek  the 
society  of  educated  females,  for  with  them  is  the  col 
loquial  affluence  of  their  mother  tongue,  and  the  clew 
that  most  readily  guides  a  stranger  through  its  laby 
rinthine  refinements. 

While  /Elius  Marcellus  was  sounding  the  depths 
of  a  passion  which,  as  yet,  his  lips  uttered  not,  she 
who  inspired  it  had  not  even  advanced  so  far  as  to 
assign  its  true  name.  All  her  life  she  had  been 
sighing  for  a  brother.  She  supposed  herself  to  have 
found  one.  In  the  loneliness  of  early  childhood, 
and  amid  the  sorrows  of  orphanage,  she  had  painted 
fraternal  intercourse  as  the  fullness  of  bliss.  She 
believed,  in  her  crystal  singleness  of  heart,  that  her 
B 


14  MYRTIS. 

new  happiness  sprang  from  this  adopted  relationship, 
and  rejoiced  to  see  the  little  Alethea  greet  their 
brother,  at  every  interview,  with  the  overflowing 
warmth  of  an  affectionate  heart. 

One  evening,  ^Elius  Marcellus  entered  with  a 
troubled  countenance.  He  had  received  tidings  of 
the  dangerous,  perhaps  fatal,  illness  of  his  mother. 
Tears  started  to  the  eyes  of  Myrtis.  Memory  turned 
to  the  death-bed  of  her  own  parents,  and  her  sympa 
thies  were  strongly  moved.  The  young  Roman  add 
ed  that  his  immediate  return  was  required,  and  that 
the  period  of  his  absence  from  his  studies  in  Athens 
was  uncertain,  and  might  be  protracted.  Tears  now 
gushed  from  an  unexplored  source,  and  blushes  of 
a  stronger  tint  than  the  maiden  had  yet  known  suf 
fused  both  cheek  and  brow  at  finding  herself  address 
ed  by  a  fonder  name  than  that  of  sister,  and  feeling 
that  it  awoke  a  true  echo  in  her  heart. 

The  discoveries  of  that  parting  hour  were  price 
less  and  indelible.  Yet,  to  describe  love-scenes  is 
but  a  losing  office.  He  who  attempts  it  is  unwise  ; 
for  the  dialect  of  love,  counting  speech  impotent,  is 
especially  ill  represented  on  paper ;  as  if  it  were  pos 
sible  that  light,  in  its  most  subtle  transmission,  should 
borrow,  or  bow  to  the  stammerings  of  sound.  Love, 
scorning  so  slow  a  medium  as  language,  except  the 
eye  be  interpreter,  is  indignant  at  the  tardier  minis 
try  of  the  pen.  The  words  of  lovers  dilated  upon 
the  dead  page,  are,  like  the  shorn  locks  of  Samson, 
stripped  of  their  talisman  and  scattered  to  the  winds. 


MYRTIS.  15 

Yet,  in  the  few  tones  of  that  Athenian  maiden, 
when  her  heart  first  awoke  to  self-knowledge  and  to 
reciprocity,  there  was  a  treasure  which  her  lover  felt 
the  world  were  poor  to  purchase.  It  was  with  him 
on  his  journeyings  as  a  spell,  annihilating  distance  and 
neutralizing  fatigue.  He  best  loved  the  lonely  val 
leys,  where  he  might  repeat  its  sweetness  unheard, 
and  the  hermit  cell  by  night,  that  he  might  invoke  it 
as  the  tutelary  goddess  of  his  repose. 

He  arrived  at  the  eternal  city  like  one  traveling 
on  the  wing  of  dreams.  His  mother,  the  noble  An- 
nia  Cornificia,  lay  in  the  last  stages  of  a  fatal  disease. 
She  had  caused  it  to  be  concealed  from  her  son  as 
long  as  hope  remained,  and  summoned  him  only  to 
receive  her  parting  counsels  and  benedictions.  Yet 
the  declining  flame  of  life,  revivifying  and  feeding  on 
the  affections,  lingered  for  a  time  on  the  verge  of  the 
grave,  cheered  by  the  kind  attentions  and  filial  piety 
of  -her  earthly  idol.  He  passed  almost  his  whole 
time  by  her  bedside,  striving  to  assuage  her  suffer 
ings,  and  receiving,  when  she  was  able,  her  directions 
respecting  the  fortune  which  had  been  intrusted  by 
his  father  to  her  care.  The  emperor,  whose  pres 
ence  in  her  last  extremity  she  greatly  desired,  was 
still  absent  from  Rome,  engaged  in  the  wars  of  Ger 
many. 

While  these  mournful  duties  occupied  ^Elius  Mar- 
cellus,  there  remained  with  the  bereaved  Myrtis  an 
interminable  void.  He  whom  she  had  long  loved  as 
a  brother,  and  more  than  a  brother,  -without  being 


16  MY  RTFS. 

conscious  of  it,  whom  she  had  just  permitted  herself 
to  regard  as  the  dearest  of  all  earthly  objects,  seemed 
to  have  taken  away  with  him  the  life  of  life.  De 
metrius,  prizing  him  as  a  scholar  and  a  friend,  and 
the  affectionate  Alethea  were  incessantly  talking  of 
him  ;  while  she,  whose  heart  was  most  interested^ 
seldom  trusted  to  her  voice  the  utterance  of  his  name. 
There  was  about  his  image  a  sacredness  which  she 
reserved  for  the  hours  of  solitary  meditation,  when 
she  might  embalm  it  with  such  tears  as  do  not  cover 
the  face.  Yet  that  chemistry  in  which  the  most  per 
fectly  balanced  minds  are  the  best  adepts,  gradually 
taught  her  that  the  duties  of  benevolence  contain  a 
balm  for  sorrow.  She  sought  out  with  increased 
zeal  the  poor  and  afflicted,  and,  in  distributing  con 
solation,  derived  comfort.  Among  her  pensioners 
was  an  aged  man,  who  had  held  in  her  father's  house 
hold  the  rank  of  steward.  His  intelligence  and  fidel 
ity  caused  him  to  be  considered  by  her  parents  less 
as  a  servant  than  a  friend,  and  his  grateful  attach 
ment  was  unbounded.  He  was  now,  in  his  childless 
age,  the  inmate  of  a  small  tenement  connected  with 
the  garden  of  Demetrius,  where  it  was  convenient 
for  Myrtis  daily  to  visit  him,  and  cheer  the  languor 
of  his  decline.  Her  attentions  to  this  lonely  and 
worthy  retainer  now  redoubled,  as  it  became  obvi 
ous  that  his  span  of  life  rapidly  decreased. 

"  Myrtis,  I  am  not  well  pleased,  said  the  little 
Alethea,  "that  you  sometimes  go  to  see  poor  Proclus 
without  me,  and  that  you  stay  so  long.  I  love  him 


M  Y  R  T  I  S.  17 

as  much  as  you  do.  And  what  is  that  book  which  I 
wake  at  midnight  and  find  you  reading  1  and  why  do 
you  hide  it  so  carefully  away  ]  Sister,  sister,  you 
never  used  to  have  secrets  from  me.  And  now  that 
our  brother  is  gone,  you  ought  to  be  kinder  to  me 
than  ever,  and  not  begin  to  shut  me  out  of  your 
heart." 

Myrtis  hasted  to  reassure  the  little  trusting  being, 
reproaching  herself  that  she  should  thus  have  grieved 
her,  for  she  found  that  in  her  dreams  she  sometimes 
convulsively  sobbed  out  complaints  Singled  with  the 
name  of  Proclus. 

One  morning  the  sound  of  heavy  steps  was  heard 
advancing  toward  the  inner  apartment,  and  Deme 
trius  entered,  with  more  of  agitation  than  his  calm 
philosophy,  and  his  still  calmer  nature,  were  wont  to 
indulge.  Following  him  was  the  proconsul  of  Ath 
ens,  to  whom  he  said,  in  hurried  tones, 

"  Will  there  never  be  an  end  of  slanders  1  Behold 
the  noble  maiden,  whom  you  so  unjustly  suspect.  Is 
it  necessary  that  here,  in  the  very  home  of  her  pro 
tector,  she  be  insulted  by  the  question,  whether  she 
be  a  Christian  V 

"  There  needs  not  this  clamor,"  replied  the  pro 
consul.  "  It  is  sufficient  if  the  lady  simply  indicate 
whether  she  will  sacrifice  to  the  gods." 

"What  an  jjflignity  is  this  doubt  of  her  piety! 
Think  you  sfte  could  be  thus  faithless  to  her  long 
line  of  ancestors,  to  her  teachers — to  herself]  In 
structed  in  our  most  ancient  rites,  would  it  be  possi- 
2  B  2 


18  MYRTIS. 

ble  to  adopt  an  odious  heresy,  which  is  but  of  yes 
terday  1  Myrtis,  daughter,  will  it  please  you  by  a 
single  word  to  dismiss  the  proconsul  ]" 

Thus  invoked,  the  maiden  arose.  Her  slight,  but 
perfect,  figure  seemed  to  assume  new  height  and 
majesty.  There  was  no  fading  of  lip  or  cheek,  as 
she  firmly  pronounced,  "  I  am  a  Christian" 

The  philosopher  stood  as  if  the  blast  of  Heaven 
had  dried  up  his  spirits.  He  listened,  gasping,  for 
some  recantation.  He  feared  to  speak,  lest  there 
might  be  a  repetition  of  those  fearful  words. 

At  length,  overcome  with  agony,  he  fell  prostrate 
and  powerless,  and  the  pi'oconsul,  with  a  glance  of 
triumph  and  of  scorn,  departed.  Newly  clothed  with 
deputed  authority,  he  was  eager  to  turn  it  to  the  best 
advantage.  The  single  prominent  blemish  in  the 
character  of  Marcus  Aurelius  was  severity  to  the 
Christians.  Mild  and  forbearing  to  all  besides,  he 
seemed  to  concentrate  the  whole  bitterness  of  the 
Portico  to  pour  it  upon  the  Cross.  The  governors 
of  the  subjugated  provinces  found  the  most  direct 
road  to  his  favor  lay  through  the  persecution  and 
punishment  of  that  sect  which  was  "  every  where 
spoken  against."  This  new  proconsul,  a  bold  man 
and  a  bad,  was  neither  insensible  to  such  ambition, 
nor  averse  from  the  machinery  which  it  involved. 

Our  next  scene  is  in  the  prison  at  Athens.  It  was 
thronged  with  habitants.  In  one  of  its  cells  was 
a  fair  young  creature,  and  a  child  ever  near  her 
—  inseparable  as  the  shadow  from  the  substance. 


MYRTIS.  19 

By  their  side  was  seen  a  hoary-headed  philosopher, 
whose  "  beard  descending,  swept  his  aged  breast." 
He  came  with  early  morn,  and  late  departed.  In 
cessantly  he  argued  of  the  antiquity  and  omnipotence 
of  the  gods  of  Greece,  and  condemned  the  madness 
of  those  who  followed  the  Crucified.  But  the  beau 
tiful  being  whom  he  addressed  spake  with  a  gentle, 
yet  clear  voice  of  the  hope  that  was  in  her,  or  read 
to  him  from  a  hallowed  page  in  which  was  the  reas 
on  of  that  hope ;  and  every  evening  he  bade  fare 
well  with  a  paler  and  more  trouble  ^rbrow. 

One  day  he  announced  to  her  that  he  had  obtained 
permission,  though  not  without  difficulty,  that  she 
should  visit  the  cell  of  Proclus;  for  age  and  sickness 
had  been  no  protection  against  his  being  torn  from 
his  humble  home,  and  subjected  to  the  rigors  of  im 
prisonment.  Breathing  gratitude  for  a  liberty  so 
long  sought  in  vain,  she  took  the  hand  of  Alethea, 
and  followed  Demetrius  and  the  guard  who  accom 
panied  him. 

The  old  man  lay  on  a  little  straw  in  the  corner  of 
his  narrow  cell.  His  eye,  dim  with  the  gloom  of  the 
prison,  and  with  a  deeper  darkness  which  had  begun 
to  settle  upon  it,  saw  not  who  approached  him.  But 
those  sweet,  low  tones  that  he  loved  called  back  the 
life-tide  to  his  marble  features. 

"  Art  thou  here,  Angel  of .Mercy  1  Once  more,  art 
thou  by  the  side  of  the  poor  old  man,  thou  who  art 
so  soon  to  be  an  angel  indeed  ]  Often,  since  I  have 
lain  here,  have  I  wept  to  think  that  in  the  beauty  and 


20  M  Y  R  T  I  S. 

flush  of  life  thou  must  be  cut  off.  But  it  was  a  thought 
of  earth.  I  ought  to  have  remembered,  and  given 
thanks  as  I  now  do,  for  the  portion  that  awaits  thee, 
for  the  '  blessing,  and  the  glory,  and  the  honor,  and 
the  eternal  life.' " 

"  Bless  me  also,  good  Proclus,"  said  Alethea.  "  I 
too  am  standing  by  thy  bed.  I  read  in  the  book  of 
the  true  God  with  Myrtis,  and  she  teaches  me  to 
worship  him." 

"  Ah  !  art  thou  here,  youngest  scion  of  my  master's 
house  1  What  it  doom  for  thee,  thou  lamb  reared 
in  green  pastures,  beside  the  still  waters  !  I  pray 
thee  come  nearer,  that  I  may  lay  my  hand  on  thy 
head,  and  name  over  thee  the  name  of  Jesus.  Who 
will  raise  this  dead  hand  for  me,  and  place  it  among 
the  curls  of  that  beautiful  one  whose  welcome  to  this 
sad  life  was  the  bosom  of  a  dying  mother  ]" 

"  Blessed  saint,"  said  Myrtis,  "  from  whom  I  first 
heard  the  hope  of  immortality,  how  can  I  comfort  thy 
soul  in  its  passage  1  Shall  I  read  for  thee  from  the 
book  of  our  faith,  or  sing  a  hymn  to  the  Redeemer  ]" 

"  Fain  would  I  listen  to  thy  voice,"  said  the  dying 
man,  "  for  it  is  melody.  But  now  I  may  not  stay. 
They  call  me.  My  soul  exults.  I  come.  Is  there 
yet  one  drop  of  water,  sweet  one  ?  The  last  want  of 
this  poor  clay.  Moisten  my  parched  lips,  that  I  may 
go  with  singing  unto  Him  who  loved  me,  who  gave 
himself  for  me." 

And,  with  a  faintly  warbled  strain  of  praise,  the 
soul  of  that  old  man  went  upward. 


MYRTIS.  21 

The  mind  of  Myrtis  was  prepared  by  its  own  struct 
ure,  as  well  as  by  its  high  culture,  for  a  more  consist 
ent  belief  than  the  mythology  of  her  country  afforded. 
The  very  philosophy  by  which  it  had  been  refined 
taught  it  to  seek  for  some  more  stable  foundation. 
Her  simple  and  severe  rectitude  was  confused  by  the 
countless  deities  naturalized  at  Athens,  where  it  was 
said  to  have  been  "  easier  to  find  a  god  than  a  man." 
Her  purity  revolted  from  the  rites  of  "  gods,  partial, 
changeful,  passionate,  unjust,  whose  attributes  were 
rage,  revenge,  or  lust."  Plato  led*  her  to  the  gate 
of  truth,  and  taught  her  to  breathe  the  pure  atmos 
phere  that  surrounded  it ;  a  humbler  hand  was  ap 
pointed  to  open  that  gate  for  her,  and  light  and  ra 
diance  flowed  through  its  portals,  and  she  became  a 
faithful  worshiper. 

By  the  bedside  of  the  lonely  retainer  of  her  fami 
ly,  where  she  went  in  the  ministry  of  her  single-heart 
ed  benevolence,  she  was  first  initiated  into  the  ru 
diments  of  Christianity,  and  gained  a  gift  of  inesti 
mable  value — a  copy  of  the  Sacred  Scriptures.  This 
was  her  daily  study.  The  faith  derived  from  it  she 
received  in  humility,  and  was  ready  to  maintain  with 
fortitude.  Yet  martyrdom,  which  holy  men  counted 
as  a  crown,  and  enthusiastic  devotion  sometimes  too 
eagerly  coveted,  was  not,  to  her  gentle  spirit,  an  ob 
ject  of  ambition.  To  renounce  life  just  as  a  newly- 
admitted  love  had  given  it  the  coloring  of  Eden,  could 
not  be  desired.  Her  young  heart,  won  by  the  noble 
Marcellus ;  his  heart,  beating,  as  it  were,  in  her  bosom ; 


22  M  Y  R  T  I  S. 

she  weighed  for  him  and  for  her  the  claims  of  this 
world  and  the  next ;  and  her  constant  supplication, 
amid  her  prison  solitude,  was,  that  her  Father  in 
heaven  would  reveal  her  duty,  and  gird  her  to  un 
swerving  obedience. 

Once,  while  the  philosopher  sat  gazing  in  silent 
affliction  upon  the  sisters,  the  massy  bolts  of  the  prison 
were  suddenly  withdrawn,  and  yElius  Marcellus  en 
tered.  Astonishment,  dismay,  and  indignation  con 
vulsed  his  noble  features  for  a  moment ;  but  love,  like 
the  lightning  flash,  dispersed  all  their  cloudy  sym 
bols.  Myrtis  vainly  strove  to  give  utterance  to  the 
emotions  that  oppressed  her.  Sensation  forsook  her, 
and  her  brow,  paler  than  marble,  drooped  over  her 
lover's  shoulder.  But  the  deadly  faintness  was  short. 
The  long  fringes  of  her  dark  eyes  unclosed,  and  a 
tint,  like  the  young  rose-leaf,  started  to  her  cheek, 
still  deepening  and  spreading,  till  the  very  snows  of 
her  temples  caught  its  trembling  suffusion.  Then, 
in  tones  like  the  varied  melody  of  a  fresh-tuned  lute, 
she  hastened  to  relieve  his  anxiety,  whose  breath 
seemed  to  depend  upon  her  own,  and  to  cheer  the 
bewildered  spirits  of  her  sister  and  their  foster-father. 
Supported  by  YElius  Marcellus,  and  with  Alethea 
seated  at  her  feet,  a  conversation  of  the  deepest  in 
terest  commenced. 

The  philosopher  felt  the  kindlings  of  a  hope  to 
which  he  had  been  long  a  stranger.  The  agitation 
of  Myrtis,  who,  amid  all  other  remonstrances,  had 
remained  serene  and  passionless,  proved  to  him  the 


M  Y  R  T  I S.  23 

omnipotence  of  her  love.  Retiring  to  the  extremity 
of  the  cell,  he  enveloped  his  head  in  his  garment,  and 
prepared,  by  an  elaborate  orison  to  Minerva,  to  ac 
celerate  the  victory  which  he  predicted.  Notwith 
standing  the  fervor  of  his  devotions,  the  accents  of 
the  speakers  sometimes  arrested  his  attention  or  lin 
gered  upon  his  ear.  The  tones  of  the  Roman  were, 
at  first,  as  one  who  complains,  or,  perhaps,  contends, 
but  with  the  consciousness  of  wearing  invincible  ar 
mor.  The  response  was  tender  and  subdued,  yet 
musical  as  the  wind-harp  swept  by  the  "  sweet  south 
west."  Then  there  was  a  tide  of  manly  eloquence, 
rushing  like  a  river  which  surmounts  every  barrier 
when  the  spring  rains  have  swollen  it.  "  For  my 
sake — for  my  sake,"  seemed  the  burden  of  every  ar 
gument,  and  it  was  echoed  in  the  sobbing  of  a  child, 
"  for  my  sake,  too,  dearest  sister."  Demetrius  bless 
ed  the  youth  in  his  aged  heart,  and  began  a  prayer 
of  thanksgiving  to  Pallas,  with  vows  of  a  costly  liba 
tion.  At  length  the  Roman  was  silent,  and,  suppos 
ing  him  to  have  destroyed  the  last  defenses  of  that 
stubborn  faith  which  all  the  weapons  of  philosophy 
had  assailed  in  vain,  he  removed  the  robe  from  his 
face,  and  looked  up. 

But  the  evidence  of  the  eye  overthrew  the  exulta 
tion  which  the  more  obtuse  ear  had  fostered.  She, 
whom  he  had  so  long  pictured  to  himself  as  the  list 
ener,  convinced,  confuted,  repentant,  was  speaking 
with  an  upraised,  soul-lighted  eye.  He  knew  that  it 
was  not  of  earth  that  she  spoke ;  for  such  holiness  as 


24  M  Y  R  T  I S. 

of  a  seraph  would  not  then  have  settled  upon  her 
countenance.  Her  hand  rested  upon  the  open  page 
of  a  book  which  she  had  drawn  from  her  bosom. 
Every  trace  of  earthly  passion  had  faded  from  her 
features,  and  her  whole  soul  seemed  to  pour  itself 
forth  as  an  essence  of  truth  and  power,  and  such  love 
as  hath  root  fast  by  the  throne  of  God. 

The  young  Roman  leaned  his  head  upon  his  hands, 
with  every  lineament  of  entranced  attention.  Deep 
sighs  burst  from  his  bosom,  like  the  dividing  of  the 
soul  from  its  terrestrial  companionship.  The  maiden, 
bending  tenderly  toward  him,  pointed  on  the  page 
which  she  held,  to  the  words,  "  I  am  the  resurrection 
and  the  life."  He  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hands, 
but  tears  gushed  through  his  fingers  like  those  large 
rain-drops  that  herald  the  tempest.  Starting  from 
his  seat,  he  strained  her  in  one  short,  agonized  em 
brace,  and  rushed  from  the  cell.  The  philosopher 
hastened  after  him,  amazed  at  such  abruptness,  yet 
dreading  to  decipher  the  cause. 

"  Sister,  dear  sister,"  said  Alethea,  clinging  round 
the  neck  of  Myrtis,  "  ./Elius  Marcellus  will  return  no 
more.  I  know  it.  His  heart  is  broken.  But  I  will 
never  leave  you.  No;  we  will  die  together;"  and 
she  sobbed  out  her  deep  love  as  the  nursling  pours 
its  griefs  into  a  mother's  bosom. 

"  Alethea,  beloved  one,  go  forth  and  breathe  the 
fresh  air.  A  prison  cell  suits  ill  with  the  free  spirit 
of  childhood.  The  flush  is  fading  from  your  cheek, 
and  your  fair  flesh  wastes  away ;"  and  she  folded  the 
dove-like  child  in  her  arms. 


MYRTIS.  25 

"  Myrtis,  I  do  not  wish  to  go.  The  gai'dens  are 
changed.  Your  voice  is  no  longer  there.  The  turf 
is  neither  green  nor  beautiful.  The  oleanders  do 
not  look  as  they  once  did,  and  my  white  cyclamen 
has  a  tear  in  its  eye  as  it  puts  forth  its  feeble  buds." 

"  Little  Alethea,  Demetrius  will  lead  you  to  see 
how  our  birds  fare,  and  our  bees.  You  shall  bring 
me  word  again.  The  comfort  of  the  humblest  in 
sect  that  God  has  made  should  be  dear  to  us.  In 
the  health  and  industry  of  those  innocent  creatures 
you  shall  once  more  be  glad.  I  will  leave  them  to 
your  care,  and  my  amaranths." 

The  fair  child  kneeled  by  her  sister,  and  hid  her 
face  in  her  lap.  She  was  silent  for  a  few  minutes. 
Then,  raising  her  head,  she  said,  calmly  and  solemnly, 

"  Speak  no  more  to  me  of  the  charge  of  birds,  and 
bees,  and  flowers.  I  shall  die  with  you.  Never 
more  will  I  press  you  to  live,  and  cease  to  be  a 
Christian ;  for  now  I  know  that  it  gives  you  pain. 
I  love  the  same  Jesus  Christ  that  you  love.  Tell  me 
more  of  Him,  that  I  may  love  Him  better.  Then, 
when  I  stand  up  to  die  with  you,  I  shall  wear  the 
same  smile  that  makes  your  brow  like  the  angels', 
when  you  kneel  and  pray  for  me." 

It  has  been  mentioned  that  the  Emperor  Marcus 
Aurelius  was  engaged  in  wars  with  the  Quadi  and 
Marcomani.  They  involved  a  long  absence  from 
Rome,  and  many  hardships.  The  barbarians  suc 
ceeded  in  shutting  him  up  between  the  mountains 
and  themselves.  The  heat  of  summer,  the  privations 
C 


26  M  Y  R  T  I  S. 

of  an  uncultivated  region,  and  the  most  distressing 
thirst,  annoyed  and  discouraged  his  army.  Forced, 
under  these  adverse  circumstances,  to  meet  the  ene 
my,  the  Roman  cohorts  might  have  whitened  with 
their  bones  the  wilds  of  Germany,  and  scarce  a  sur 
vivor  have  escaped  to  tell  their  fate.  They  invoked 
the  gods  of  their  nation,  and  the  boasted  idols  of 
Egypt,  in  vain.  At  length  a  legion  of  Christian  sold 
iers  knelt  on  the  arid  battle  field,  and  besought  help 
of  Jehovah.  A  plentiful  and  blessed  rain,  which  fell 
as  the  conflict  began,  and  which  the  famishing  soldiers 
caught  in  their  helmets  and  the  hollow  of  their  shields, 
so  invigorated  them,  while  the  tempest,  with  thunder 
and  lightning  that  followed,  so  terrified  the  barbari 
ans,  that  victory  declared  for  those  who,  but  a  moment 
before,  seemed  ready  to  yield  without  a  struggle. 

Even  pagan  history  scruples  not  to  connect  this 
wonderful  event  with  the  prevalent  prayers  of  those 
Christian  soldiers,  enforced,  as  they  were,  to  follow  the 
fortunes  and  share  in  the  battles  of  a  persecuting  em 
peror.  She  bestowed  on  them  the  distinctive  name 
of  the  "  thundering  legion ;"  thus  perpetuating  at 
once  her  gratitude,  and  the  terrible  voice  from  Heav 
en  that  discomfited  the  barbarians.  They  were  per 
mitted  to  have  a  thunderbolt  engraven  on  their  shields 
— a  coat  of  arms  of  high  and  peculiar  heraldry.  The 
beautiful  Antonine  column,  boldly  resisting  the  tyr 
anny  of  time,  still  preserves  the  scenery  of  that  re 
markable  occurrence,  among  other  imperishable  rec 
ords  of  Roman  glory. 


MYRTIS.  27 

At  evening  the  emperor  sat  in  his  tent,  revolving 
the  wonderful  deliverance  of  the  day,  and  thanking 
the  gods  to  whose  interposition  he  ascribed  it.  He 
mused,  also,  upon  the  evils  of  war,  which  drew  him 
from  his  palace  and  his  people,  to  do  deeds  from 
which  his  better  nature  revolted,  and  to  forego  that 
philosophical  retirement  which  declining  years  ren 
dered  still  more  dear.  The  revery  was  disturbed  by 
tidings  that  a  young  Roman,  apparently  charged  with 
urgent  dispatches,  claimed  admission  to  the  imperial 
presence. 

The  next  moment  ^JElius  Marcellus  was  at  his  feet. 
After  salutations  of  surprise  and  reverence;  he  re 
ceived  permission  to  unfold  the  cause  for  which  he 
had  thus  dared  long  travel,  and  an  enemy's  land.  As 
he  proceeded,  the  brow  of  the  emperor  grew  stern, 
and  darkened. 

"  Would  that  thy  first  mediation  had  not  been  for 
one  of  that  race,  whom  duty  to  the  gods  requires  me 
to  humble,  perhaps  to  extirpate.  A  Christian  maid 
en  !  What  has  she  to  do  with  the  son  of  the  noble 
Marcellus,  the  nephew,  perhaps  the  heir,  of  him  who 
wears  the  imperial  purple  V 

Again  he  listened  to  the  suppliant,  till  his  lofty  fore 
head  lost  its  painful  contraction,  and  his  classic  features 
resumed  their  native  cast  of  contemplative  thought. 

"  The  Christians  have  ever  been  represented  to 
me  as  disaffected  to  our  laws,  and  leaders  of  tumult 
and  rebellion.  Yet  I  am  not  ignorant  that  there  are 
in  my  army  some  of  their  soldiers  who  have  done 


28  MYRTIS. 

good  service  in  this  very  war.  To-day  they  knelt 
upon  the  field  of  battle,  and  prayed  their  God  for 
succor,  and  lo  !  the  elements  came  to  our  rescue, 
and  Heaven's  thunder-bolts  discomfited  the  barbari 
ans.  My  heart  even  now  swells  with  gratitude  to 
them.  Thou  knowest  that  I  seek  to  show  "justice  to 
all  men.  What  is  thy  petition  1" 

"  A  mandate  to  the  proconsul  of  Athens,  overruling 
this  doom  of  death,  which  he  purposes  to  inflict." 

"  By  my  decree  have  the  governors  of  the  provinces 
punished  the  Christians.  How  shall  this  discrepan 
cy  be  reconciled]" 

"  Thy  noble  and  just  nature  has  been  deceived  by 
the  falsehood  of  those  who  hold  the  Christians  in  ab 
horrence,  or  by  their  avarice  coveting  the  gains  of 
confiscation.  If  they  have  now  proved  themselves 
faithful  in  camps,  and  brave  amid  the  disasters  of 
war ;  if,  through  their  prayers,  the  legions  have  been 
rescued,  an  emperor,  so  generous  to  foes,  will  not 
surely  withhold  from  his  own  soldiers  the  approval 
due  to  them  and  honorable  to  himself." 

Marcus  Aurelius  paced  the  tent  in  silence  and  agi 
tation.  Then,  fixing  on  his  nephew  eyes  that  seem 
ed  to  read  the  soul,  he  said,  "  Art  tJtou  a  Christian  "?" 

Color  rushed  to  the  brow  of  the  young  man,  as  he 
half  indignantly  replied, 

"  No,  I  have  never  abjured  the  gods  of  Rome. 
At  my  last  intei-view  with  her  for  whose  sake  I  thus 
venture  to  implore  thee,  I  sought  vehemently  to  draw 
her  from  what  I  deemed  delusion  and  madness.  But 


MYRT1S.  29 

I  love  that  maiden  better  than  my  own  soul.  If  she 
must  perish,  trample,  I  pray  thee,  on  my  life  as  a 
rootless  weed,  for  henceforth  I  am  nothing  to  Rome 
or  to  thee." 

The  emperor,  still  hesitating,  murmured,  half  aud 
ibly,  half  in  self-communion, 

"  Did  I  not  sanction  the  doom  of  Polycarp,  and  of 
Dionysius,  and  of  the  multitudes  whose  blood  satu 
rated  the  valleys  of  Gaul  ]" 

Marcellus,  pressing  his  hand  in  both  his  own,  ex 
claimed, 

"  If  an  old  man,  weary •  of  life,  took  only  one  step 
toward  his  grave ;  if  an  enthusiast,  greeting  martyr 
dom  as  the  crown  of  earthly  glory,  eagerly  seized 
that  crown ;  if  those  who  were  represented  to  thee 
as  ripe  for  insurrection,  and  subverters  of  the  gods 
of  our  nation,  have  shed  their  blood;  what  then1? 
canst  thou  restore  them  ]  But  a  maiden,  nurtured  in 
simplicity  and  in  philosophy,  no  troubler  of  thy  realm, 
no  sower  of  sedition,  must  she  be  sacrificed  because 
she  hath  drawn  secretly  into  her  bosom  some  form  of 
faith  which,  to  her  purity,  seems  more  pure  1  Have 
I  said  that  she  is  the  daughter  of  one  who  was  hon 
ored  as  the  munificent  patron  of  philosophers — the 
friend  of  Rome  1  Have  I  said  that  insolence  dared 
even  to  outrage  the  domestic  sanctuary,  and  drive  her 
thence  in  her  beauty  and  innocence  to  such  a  prison 
as  felons  share?  Let  her  look,  in  her  desolate  or 
phanage,  to  thee  as  her  protector  from  such  tyranny." 

The  emperor  regarded  him,  as  he  ceased  to  speak, 
C  2 


30  M  Y  R  T  I S. 

with  deep  and  tender  attention.  He  scanned  his 
haggard  eye,  and  the  marks  of  rugged  travel  that 
he  bore.  The  sympathies  of  kindred  blood  wrought 
strongly  within  him. 

"  My  son,  since  last  we  met,  the  soul  of  thy  moth 
er  hath  been  summoned  to  the  eternal  gods.  She 
was  my  only  sister,  dear  to  me  from  the  cradle.  Her 
love  shall  be  thine.  Even  now  her  voice  pleads  with 
in  my  heart  for  thee.  Not  in  vain  shall  be  thy  per 
ilous  appeal  for  this  Grecian  maiden." 

He  traced  a  few  lines,  and  gave  them  folded  into 
the  hand  of  the  youth. 

"  This  will  suspend  all  execution  of  Christians,  on 
account  of  their  faith,  until  my  arrival  in  Athens,  for 
I  purpose  to  visit  that  illustrious  city  ere  I  return  to 
Rome." 

"Emperor!  father!  yet  more  to  me  than  either 
father  or  emperor  !  Representative  of  the  mercy  of 
the  heavens !  how  shall  I  give  vent  to  my  eternal 
gratitude  ]" 

"  Go  to  thy  rest,  my  son,  for  thou  art  sore  wearied. 
In  the  morning  I  will  confer  with  thee  6f  the  philos 
ophy  of  Greece.  It  will  refresh  my  spirit  under  the 
toils  and  burdens  of  this  war." 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  the  youth,  embracing  his 
knees.  "  I  may  not  tarry  for  a  night.  Sleep  is  a 
stranger  to  mine  eyelids.  Even  the  moment  in  which 
I  so  vainly  strive  to  utter  thanks,  may  frustrate  the 
very  purpose  of  thy  goodness/' 

The  lips  of  the  emperor  trembled.     Scarcely  had 


MYRTIS.  31 

he  articulated,  "  the  blessing  of  the  holy  gods  be  with 
thee,"  ere  the  flying  tramp  of  a  departing  steed  was 
heard,  though  the  storm  still  raged,  and  the  darkness 
of  midnight  overspread  the  landscape. 

The  summer  sun  lay  bright  and  broad  upon  Ath 
ens.     Footsteps  hurried  through  the  streets,  and  the 
low  murmur  of  suppressed  voices  was  heard  from  a 
spot  where  the  dense  throng  congregated.     Prepara 
tions  were  seen  for  tlie  extinction  of  life.      The  fatal 
pile,  rising  here  and  there,  bore  witness  that  this  ex 
tinction  was  to  be  through  the  torturing  agency  of 
fire.     Individuals  of  various  ages  composed  the  band 
who  were  sentenced  to  look  that  day  for  the  last  time 
on  the  waving  olives  and  fair  skies  of  their  beautiful 
clime.     There  the  hoary-headed  man  came  to  give  the 
remnant  of  his  life  joyfully  away,  and  the  delicate  fe 
male,  made  strong  by  the  faith  of  her  Redeemer,  stood 
forth  a  spectacle  to  men  and  to  angels.     Amid  all  the 
softening  influences  of  nature  and  of  art,  the  same  spir 
it  was  dominant  which  adjudged  Socrates  to  the  hem 
lock,  and  it  was  enraged  to  find  that  neither  threat  nor 
torture  could  intimidate  those  whom  it  had  marked 
for  its  prey.     Still  a  semblance  of  justice  and  moder 
ation  was  preserved.      Opportunity  was   offered   to 
each  of  the  victims  to  sacrifice  to  the  gods,  argu 
ments  to  persuade  recantation  were  adduced,  and  an 
affected  reluctance  testified  to  inflict  the  doom  which 
multitudes  had  assembled  to  witness  ;    but  the  alter 
native  was  refused  by  every  Christian,  and  death  no 
bly  welcomed. 


32  M  y  R  T  i  s. 

Then  there  was  a  moment  of  awful  silence.  It 
was  broken  by  sounds  strangely  sweet — the  hymn  of 
the  martrys.  Its  prelude  was  tender,  almost  trem 
ulous,  as  of  souls  spreading  a  timid  wing  over  the 
crushing  of  their  clay  casket,  fragile,  and  beloved. 
But  then  it  swelled  out  in  fuller  chorus,  as  if  angels 
from  the  open  gates  of  heaven  took  up  the  melody 
a7id  made  it  a  song  of  triumph. 

The  listeners  were  appalled.  Those  who  con 
ducted  the  execution,  dreading  a  revulsion  of  popu 
lar  feeling,  strove  by  the  clamor  of  martial  instru 
ments  to  interrupt  that  solemn,  unearthly  music. 
Among  the  little  band  of  martyrs  was  one  on  whom 
the  universal  gaze  settled.  Youth,  and  a  beauty  ren 
dered  more  exquisite  by  seclusion  from  crowds,  were 
suddenly  exposed  to  the  rude  glare  of  the  multitude. 
By  the  side  of  the  maiden  stood  an  ancient  philoso 
pher,  wasted  to  a  skeleton,  a  mute  effigy  of  powerless 
sorrow.  Clasping  her  hands  was  a  fair  child,  whose 
exuberant  curls  partially  shaded  a  face  ever  raised 
upward  to  the  object  of  its  love,  as  if  frohi  thence  it 
derived  breath  and  being. 

The  time  arrived  when  the  victims  must  be  bound 
to  the  stake.  Orders  were  given  that  the  child  should 
be  removed  ;  but,  embracing  her  sister  with  a  con 
vulsive  grasp,  she  declared  her  determination  that 
nothing  should  separate  them.  The  martyr  soothed 
her  in  low  tones,  and  strove  gently  to  put  her  hand 
into  that  of  the  philosopher ;  but  in  vain.  She  clung 
to  her  as  the  clay  to  the  struggling  spirit  when  Death 


M  Y  K  T  I  S.  33     | 

summons  it  to  be  free.     A  murmur  of  sympathy  ran    • 
through  the  populace.     The  proconsul  approached. 

"  Maiden,  art  thou  so  rashly  bent  upon  death,  that 
nothing  can  annul  thy  choice  1  Have  all  the  joys  of 
life  no  weight  with  one  so  beautiful  ]" 

"  Speak  not  to  me  of  the  alternative  by  which  life 
is  purchased.  Am  I  again  to  repeat  the  assurance 
that  1  will  never  deny  my  Savior  ?-" 

"  Then  bid  farewell  to  this  child.  Or  is  it  thy 
pleasure  that  she  make  trial  of  the  flame  ]" 

The  martyr  bowed  down  and  clasped  her  soul's 
darling  in  one  long  embrace.  She  pressed  her  lips  to 
hers,  as  if  she  fain  would  breathe  there  her  last  breath. 
As  she  withdrew  them,  she  said  gently,  but  firmly, 

"  Dearest,  go  now  to  our  father  Demetrius.  If  we 
both  leave  him,  he  will  die  comfortless,  he  who  has 
for  so  many  years  been  as  father  and  mother  to  us. 
Go,  cheer  his  aged  heart.  This  is  your  duty.  Be 
a  daughter  to  him.  Remember  my  last  message  to 
your  brother,  to  ^Elius  Marcellus.  And  now,  little 
sister,  farewell.  We  shall  meet  again.  There  is  a 
place  for  you  in  heaven.  I  will  watch  over  you,  and 
welcome  you  there." 

Her  words  fell  unheeded.  The  lips  and  forehead 
of  the  child  were  cold,  but  the  pressure  of  her  em 
brace  relaxed  not. 

"  Old  man,"  said  the  proconsul,  "  take  away  this 
child."     But  the  hoary- headed  philosopher  moved 
not.     He  stood  as  the  statues  that  in  their  marble 
majesty  looked  down  upon  him. 
3 


34  M  Y  R  T  I  S. 

At  a  glance  from  the  proconsul,  a  .soldier  laid  his 
hand  upon  Alethea.  Even  his  iron  nature  recoiled 
|  at  her  piercing  scream. 

"  No,  no !  I  shall  die  with  my  sister.  I  worship 
the  Christian's  God.  I  love  Jesus  Christ.  I  hate 
the  idols  of  Athens.  Let  me  stand  up  in  the  fire  by 
my  dear  sister's  side.  I  will  not  shrink,  nor  cry  out. 
My  heart  grows  to  hers.  It  can  not  be  torn  away. 
I  have  a  right  to  die  with  her.  Do  I  not  tell  you  that 
I  am  a  Christian  1" 

"  Away  with  her,  then,"  said  the  proconsul :  "  let 
her  test  her  young*  courage  by  a  taste  of  the  flame, 
if  so  it  pleaseth  her." 

There  was  a  tumult  among  the  throng.  A  shout 
of  "  Tidings  from  the  emperor!"  A  horseman  was 
seen  approaching  with  breathless  speed.  He  leaped 
from  his  gasping  steed,  which  the  same  moment  fell 
dead  at  his  feet.  He  caught  in  his  arms  the  sen 
tenced  maiden  and  the  pale  child,  who  adhered  to 
her  with  the  clasp  of  the  drowning  when  he  sinks  to 
rise  no  more.  Hurling  toward  the  proconsul  the 
edict  which  he  drew  from  his  bosom,  he  exclaimed, 

"  Hence,  persecutor !  with  thy  minions.  Thou 
shall  answer  this  before  the  emperor.  See  that  these 
Christians,  in  whose  tortures  thou  wert  so  ready  to 
exult,  are  sent  peacefully  to  their  own  homes ;  and 
let  this  multitude  disperse." 

The  proconsul  read  the  writing,  and  quailed  before 
the  wrath  of  the  young  Roman.  He  dared  not  meet 
the  lightning  of  his  eye,  for  there  is  in  every  tyrant 


M  Y  R  T I S.  35 

the  rudiments  of  a  coward.  And  the  fickle  thousands 
who,  but  a  moment  before,  condemned  the  Christ 
ians  to  the  stake,  departed  with  curses  on  their  lips 
for  the  baffled  proconsul. 

The  next  gathering  of  a  throng  in  that  amphithe 
atre  was  for  a  different  purpose  —  the  triumphal 
entry  of  Marcus  Aurelius  into  Athens.  The  car 
of  the  emperor  was  attended  by  his  conquering  le 
gions,  whose  invincible  might  Greece  well  remem 
bered,  and  could  too  feelingly  attest.  Captives,  torn 
from  the  German  wilds,  with  dejected  countenances 
and  wild  elf-locks,  swelled  the  pageant  of  the  victor. 
He  was  welcomed  by  all  that  Athens  could  devise 
of  pomp  or  of  music,  of  procession  or  of  praise. 
Flowers  were  strewn  as  he  passed,  and  clouds  of  in 
cense  ascended  as  to  a  god.  Since  the  entrance  of 
Adrian,  to  whom  the  Eleusinian  mysteries  were  re 
vealed,  Athens  had  beheld  nothing  so  imposing.  She 
hoped  to  receive  from  Marcus  Aurelius  such  bene 
factions  as  were  then  heaped  upon  her;  and  the 
splendid  edifices  which  Adrian  had  erected,  especi 
ally  his  library,  with  its  alabaster  roof  and  its  hundred 
columns  of  Phrygian  marble,  glowed  with  the  richest 
wreaths  and  echoed  to  the  rarest  minstrelsy. 

But  peculiarly  did  philosophy  regard  this  festival 
as  her  own.  Never  before  had  she  seen  one  of  her 
own  votaries  robed  in  imperial  purple,  and  wielding 
the  scepter  of  the  globe.  With  all  her  boasted  in 
difference  to  earthly  pomp  and  pride,  she  might  have 
been  forgiven  the  quickened  step  and  flushed  brow 


36  M  Y  R  T I  S. 

with  which  she  threw  her  garland  at  his  feet.  Es 
pecially  did  the  disciples  of  Zeno  lift  up  their  head 
with  unwonted  dignity.  Marcus  Aurelius  Antoni 
nus  was  a  brother  of  their  order,  an  adept  in  their 
lore.  His  constant  favor  had  distinguished  them,  his 
eloquent  pen  maintained  their  tenets.  The  point  of 
precedence  was  therefore,  on  that  memorable  day, 
conceded  to  the  scholars  of  the  Portico ;  but  press 
ing  near  them,  and  with  more  of  heart-felt  joy  in  his 
demeanor,  was  a  Platonist,  the  silver-haired  Deme 
trius.  Regarding  the  emperor  as  a  beneficent  deity, 
he  poured  forth  a  tide  of  scarcely  audible  gratitude. 

Yet  he,  to  whom  every  eye  was  lifted,  bent  his  own 
with  serene  earnestness  on  a  single  group.  There 
knelt  at  his  feet  a  lordly  Roman,  and  a  graceful  fe 
male,  enveloped  in  a  veil,  to  whose  side  clung  a  beau 
tiful  child.  The  vast  multitude  listened  in  breathless 
attention  as  the  youth  broke  silence. 

"  Emperor  !  Sire  !  Behold  the  maiden  for  whom 
I  besought  thee.  Since  we  last  met,  a  change  hath 
passed  over  me.  I  am  no  longer  able  to  resist  the 
truth.  I  have  embraced  the  faith  that  once  I  con 
demned.  I  am  a  Christian,  To  whatever  punish 
ment  thou  shalt  adjudge,  we  submit  ourselves.  If 
our  doom  be  death,  suffer  us  to  share  it  together,  that 
together  we  may  be  with  the  Lord." 

He  who  was  thus  addressed,  bending  from  his  lofty 
seat,  united  the  hands  of  the  lovers ;  and  Marcus 
Aurelius,  the  heathen  and  the  Stoic,  sanctioned,  not 
without  a  tear  of  tenderness,  the  bridal  of  Christians. 


THE   EMIGRANT   BRIDE. 


"  Fare  ye  well !  fare  ye  well ! 
To  joy  and  to  hope  it  sounds  as  a  knell ; 
Cruel  tale  it  were  to  tell 
How  the  emigrant  sighs  farewell." 

TOPPER. 


TliE    EMIGRANT   BRIDE. 


Two  rather  antique-looking  people  were  con 
versing  cozily,  toward  the  close  of  a  vernal  day. 
The  bay  window  where  they  sat,  looked  out  upon 
lawn  and  garden,  and  was  partially  shaded  by  the 
convolvulus,  so  redolent  at  dewy  morn,  of  its  deep 
blue  and  crimson  bells. 

"  Brother,  did  you  ever  think  our  Susan  had  some 
thoughts  she  did  not  reveal  1" 

"  What  kind  of  thoughts  1" 

"  Why,  has  it  never  crossed  your  mind  that  she 
might  be  in  love  1" 

"  In  love  !  The  child  !  What  can  you  be  dream 
ing  of,  Sister  Sibyl?" 

"  Child  indeed !  Eighteen  next  Candlemas,  Mr. 
Mortimer.  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  her  mother  was 
younger  when  she  stood  at  the  altar  with  our  broth 
er.  Perhaps  I  might  say,  when  she  led  him  there, 
for  he  was  utterly  bewildered,  and  blinded  by  the 
love  of  her." 

"  She  was  truly  lovely.  But  tell  me  whose  image 
your  imaginings  have  coupled  with  our  pretty 
niece  1" 

"  Whose  image  1  Why,  the  young  spark  Henry 
Elton,  of  course.  A  fine  match,  upon  my  word ; 


40  T  HE    EMIGRANT    B  R  I  L>  E. 


he  having  nothing,  or  next  to  nothing,  and  of  no 
family,  as  you  may  say.  I  always  thought  Susan 
ought  to  marry  some  nobleman ;  and  so  she  might, 
with  a  proper  ambition.  Such  sights  of  money  as 
you  have  lavished  on  her  education,  too — playing  on 
the  spinnet,  and  working  tent-stitch.  Of  what  great 
use  will  these  be,  when  she  is  the  wife  of  so  very  un 
distinguished  a  personage  ]  I  think  she  is  ungrate 
ful  to  you ;  indeed,  to  us  both." 

"  It  is  most  probable  that  your  fancy  outruns  all 
fact.  Still,  if  your  suspicions  prove  true,  I  should 
regret  it  not  so  much  for  the  reasons  you  have  given, 
as  that  the  young  man  has  some  spice  of  wildness 
and  want  of  consideration,  which  might  affect  the 
happiness  of  the  poor  girl.  Shall  I  speak  to  her?" 

"  O  mercy,  my  dear  brother !  not  for  the  world. 
You  men  are  always  so  hasty.  Such  matters  need 
the  utmost  tact  and  delicacy.  The  young  heart  is  an 
exquisite  harp,  which  few  can  play  upon  without 
disordering  its  sti'ings.  Trust  that  to  me.  There 
she  is,  coming  from  her  walk,  and  that  very  Henry 
Elton  with  her,  to  be  sure !  Have  the  goodness, 
brother,  to  leave  the  room.  No  time  like  the  pres 
ent  time,  as  the  proverb  says." 

A  fair  girl  was  seen  approaching  the  house,  the 
rich  curls  of  auburn  hair  escaping  from  under  her 
hat  upon  neck  and  shoulder.  By  her  side  was  a 
graceful  young  man,  who  bore  upon  his  arm  her 
basket  of  wild  flowers.  A  ramble  in  the  green 
lanes  of  merry  England  had  given  them  new  spirits, 


THE    EMIGRANT    BRIDE.  41 

and  their  voices,  mingling  in  occasional  laughter, 
rang  out  joyously.  Her  companion  took  leave,  and 
she  entered  with  a  light  step. 

"  See,  aunt,  these  fresh  violets,  and  this — " 

"  Bless  me  !  Miss  Mortimer,  I  suppose  it  is  highly 
decorous  to  walk  with  your  hat  untied,  and  to  chat 
ter  so  long  at  the  gate  with  a  gentleman." 

Amazement  seized  the  young  creature,  a  moment 
since  so  gay.  Miss  Mortimer !  This  was  always 
an  epithet  of  great  displeasure.  What  could  have 
happened  ]  The  full,  blue  eyes,  which  just  before 
had  sparkled  like  sapphires,  dilated,  and  with  lips 
slightly  parted,  and  foot  advanced,  she  stood,  check 
ed  and  silent,  a  song-bird  startled  by  the  thunder. 

"  Do  you  know  that  every  body  is  talking  of  your 
familiarity  with  that  Henry  Elton,  and  of  his  awful 
dissipation,  too  ;  your  uncle  and  all  ?" 

"  My  dear  aunt !" 

"  Yes  !  dear  aunt  indeed  !  Your  uncle  is  not 
quite  blind,  nor  deaf  either.  Poor  man  !  he  might 
have  had  higher  hopes  for  his  favorite  brother's 
daughter.  So  liberal,  too,  as  he  has  always  been — 
no  expense  spared.  It  is  a  burning  shame  to  show 
no  more  regard  to  his  feelings." 

"  I  assure  you,  aunt — " 

"  You  need  not  assure  me  at  all ;  I'm  able  to  as 
sure  myself.  But,  if  you  do  not  see  fit  to  give  up 
Henry  Elton,  and  mate  yourself  with  some  titled 
person,  or  one  more  fitting  for  our  family,  it  will  not 
be  so  well  for  you,  I  can  assure  you  of  that.  It  will 
D2 


42  T  II  E    E  M  I  G  U  A  N  T    H  HI  D  K. 

not  be  difficult  to  find  one  who  will  show  more 
gratitude  to  us,  for  lesser  favors.  You  need  not 
take  the  trouble  to  answer  me." 

The  surprise  of  the  listener  gave  way  to  a  rush  of 
other  feelings.  The  color  deepened  in  her  pure 
Saxon  complexion,  but  she  replied  not,  though  the 
compression  of  her  bright  lips  proved  that  it  cost 
some  effort  to  be  silent.  Henceforth  a  new  subject 
occupied  her  meditations,  and  the  floating  filament 
and  shadow  of  a  preference  became  a  fixed  thought. 

Miss  Sibyl  lost  no  time  in  reporting  to  her  broth 
er  that  Susan  was  deeply  in  love,  and  desperately 
bent  on  having  her  own  way. 

"  I  could  see  it  in  every  movement.  She  is  her 
mother  over  again,  whom  I  never  could  bear.  Her 
father,  too,  had  a  right  obstinate  temper.  Consider 
ing  he  was  only  a  half-brother,  I  have  sometimes 
wondered  at  your  partiality  for  his  daughter.  I  am 
sure  our  own  dear  sister  would  be  glad  to  give  us 
her  Euphemia,  who  would  not  make  us  half  the 
trouble  that  Susan  has." 

This  matter  had  been  hinted  before  by  the  adroit 
lady,  but  her  brother's  heart  still  continued  to  turn 
to  his  orphan  protege.  Yet,  having  always  main 
tained  toward  Susan  a  reserved  and  dignified  manner, 
she  was  not  aware  of  his  attachment,  and  too  timid 
to  approach  him  with  freedom.  Mutually  misun 
derstanding  each  other,  constraint  deepened  into  ap 
parent  coldness,  and  diffidence  was  mistaken  for 
pride.  The  blight  of  a  joyless  home  fell  on  the 


THE    E  M  I  G  R  A  X  T    B  11 1  D  E.  43 

spirit  of  the  young  girl,  and   she   grew  care-worn 
before  her  time. 

Days  passed  away  on  leaden  feet,  and  the  early 
flowers,  for  whose  birth  she  had  waited,  withered, 
scarcely  noticed,  in  their  turfy  beds.  At  the  foot  of 
the  pleasant  garden  of  the  Mortimers  was  a  sum 
mer-house.  The  full  moon,  looking  through 
vines  and  lattice-work,  saw  that  it  was  not  untenant- 
ed.  Two  persons  were  discoverable,  with  heads  de 
clined,  as  if  in  conversation  more  profound  than  the 
gayety  of  youth  would  prompt. 

Suddenly  one  starts  into  action,  genuflection,  ges 
ture,  such  as  excited  feeling  or  eloquence  inspire. 
It  might  be  seen  that  he  had  an  auditor  absorbed, 
and  not  unmoved. 

The  pantomime,  though  protracted,  has  a  close. 
Of  its  scope  and  result,  somewhat  may  be  gathered 
by  the  bearing  of  the  parties,  as  they  issue  from  the 
bower.  Moving  slowly  through  the  long  lines  of 
shrubbery,  the  manner  of  one  is  earnest,  tender, 
and  tinctured  with  the  power  of  prevalence.  The 
other  leans  heavily  on  his  arm,  her  fair  brow  inclin 
ing  toward  his,  and  as  they  reach  the  porch  where 
they  are  to  separate,  her  clear,  lustrous  eye  gazes 
steadfastly  into  his,  as  if  to  gather  one  more  assu 
rance  that  the  image  of  her  own  love  is  fully  re 
flected  there. 

A  ship  rides  at  anchor  on  the  English  coast.  The 
night  is  rayless,  and  winds  moan  with  a  hollow 
sound.  The  midnight  watch  is  called  ;  but  the  cap- 


44  THE    EMIGRANT    BRIDE. 

tain  still  lingers  on  deck,  as  if  engaged  in  some 
preparation  for  his  expected  departure  at  early 
morn. 

The  tramp  of  flying  steeds  on  the  shores  is  heard, 
then  the  dash  of  an  oar.  A  boat  has  put  out  into 
the  thick  darkness.  Soon  a  group,  muflled  in  cloaks, 
ascend  the  deck  of  the  vessel.  One  seems  exhaust 
ed,  and  is  supported  by  a  stronger  arm. 

Then,  by  the  dull,  red  light  of  the  barnacle,  a  cav 
alier  stands  forth,  with  uncovered  head,  and  by  his 
side  a  vision  of  beauty.  The  melody  of  the  mar 
riage  service  trembles  strangely  upon  that  bleak, 
midnight  air.  Hands  are  joined. 

"  Till  death  ft*  do  part."  What  a  place,  timkl 
and  tender  creature  !  for  vows  like  these — the  rough 
ship  and  the  tossing  sea.  None  of  thy  kindred  blood 
near  to  bless  thee,  or  soothe  the  pulsations  of  thy 
fluttering  heart. 

"  Safe  from  all  persecution  !  Mine  own  for 
ever  !" 

Well-timed  words,  young  bridegroom.  They  bring 
a  faint  rose-leaf  tinge  over  cheek  and  brow,  so  dead 
ly  pale.  The  benediction  of  the  priest  fell  like  oil 
upon  the  troubled  waters ;  and  throwing  himself, 
with  his  attendants,  into  the  waiting  boat,  he  rapidly 
regained  the  shore. 

The  next  morning  beheld  the  ship  and  her  two 
companions,  with  unfurled  sails,  leave  the  harbor  of 
Plymouth.  Cloud  and  blast  had  passed  away  with 
night,  but  were  replaced  by  a  dense  fog.  So  they 


THE    EMIGRANT    BRIDE.  45 

still  hovered,  like  half-wakened  sea-birds,  lazily 
along  the  coast. 

At  mid-day  a  barge  was  seen  approaching.  With 
a  buoyant  movement  it  skimmed  the  waves,  now 
rising  half  upright  upon  some  crested  billow,  and 
anon  sinking  gracefully  into  the  intermediate  vale 
of  waters. 

Among  the  many  who  watched  her  progress, 
none  testified  such  overwhelming  anxiety  as  Henry 
Elton  and  his  bride.  Apprehension  that  they  might 
be  the  objects  of  pursuit,  raised  a  tide  of  tumultuous 
emotion.  The  young  man  walked  apart  with  the 
captain,  vehemently  demanding  that  the  ship  should 
hold  on  her  course  ;  and  when  he  again  seated  him 
self  by  her  side,  whose  azure  eye  followed  his  ev 
ery  movement,  weapons  were  observed  to  glitter 
beneath  his  mantle. 

A  cavalier,  closely  muffled,  with  a  single  servant, 
leaped  on  board.  Requesting  a  private  interview 
with  the  captain,  they  descended  together  to  the 
cabin.  Henry  Elton,  passing  one  arm  firmly  around 
his  bride,  whispered  in  her  ear,  "  Till  death  us  do 
part,""  while  a  sword,  partially  drawn  from  its  scab 
bard,  gleamed  in  his  right  hand.  How  endless 
seemed  that  interval  of  suspense  ! 

At  length  ascending  footsteps  were  heard,  with  a 
suppressed  murmur  of  "  Sir  Walter  Raleigh !"  The 
eye  of  every  gazer  testified  pleasure  as  it  rested  on 
the  noble  form  of  the  most  accomplished  knight  of 
his  times.  His  Spanish  cloak,  thrown  over  one  arm, 


40  THE    E  M  I  G  R  A  X  T    B  II 1 1)  E. 


discovered  that  magnificence  of  costume  in  which 
he  delighted,  and  which  his  elegance  of  person  so 
well  became.  To  all  who  surrounded  him  he  ad 
dressed  some  kind  or  courtly  phrase,  with  his  habit 
ual  tact  and  fluency.  Fixing  his  eagle  eye  on  the 
bride,  he  drew  her  toward  him,  and  said, 

"  And  thou,  too,  here,  pretty  dove  ]  I  knew  thy 
father  well,  in  the  wars  of  the  Low  Countries.  A 
brave  man  was  he,  and  a  noble.  Heaven  help  thee 
to  build  thy  nest  in  yon  far  flowery  groves,  where  I 
would  fain  myself  be." 

Pressing  a  paternal  kiss  on  her  pure  forehead, 
and  once  more  heartily  shaking  the  hand  of  the 
commander,  he  said, 

"  My  good  people,  that  you  will  sm>w  all-  due  re 
spect  and  obedience  to  so  excellent  a  seaman  as 
Captain  White,  I  make  no  doubt.  But  more  than 
this:  I  present  him  to  you  as  the  future  governor  of 
the  colony  which,  God  willing,  you  are  to  plant  in 
the  new  Western  World." 

Then  placing  in  his  hand  a  sealed  paper,  contain 
ing  instructions  for  the  new  government,  and  the 
names  of  the  twelve  assistants  by  whose  aid  it  was 
to  be  administered,  he  bade  all  a  courteous  farewell, 
with  "  good  wishes,  and  a  golden  lot." 

Loud  and  long  was  the  voice  of  cheer  and  gratu- 
lation  as  he  departed.  He  bowed  his  thanks,  and 
then  standing  erect  in  the  tossing  boat,  waved  his 
hat,  with  its  fair,  white  plumes.  Far  in  the  distance 
they  saw  it  dancing  amid  the  sea-foam,  and  con- 


T  H  E    E  M  I G  R  A  N  T    B  U  I  D  E.  47 


versed  enthusiastically  of  the  man  who,  yet  scarcely 
thirty-five,  had  already  become  illustrious  in  arts 
and  arms,  a  scholar,  courtier,  poet,  and  statesman  ; 
liberal  as  a  patron  of  literature,  and  the  very  soul  of 
all  enterprise  for  the  settlement  of  the  new-found 
continent  of  America.  As  they  watched  him  until 
his  barge  was  a  speck  on  the  far  waters,  no  pre 
science  revealed  the  darkening  of  his  fortunes,  the 
conspiracy  of  his  foes,  a  tyrant  king,  the  prison,  and 
the  scaffold. 


Three  small  ships,  long  beaten  by  the  Atlantic 
surge,  approached  the  shores  of  that  region  which, 
less  than  a  cenrary  before,  the  world-finder  had  un 
veiled.  The  conflict  of  months  with  blast  and  bil 
low  had  not  left  them  unscathed,  and  they  moved, 
like  the  flagging  sea-gull,  toward  the  desired  haven. 

It  was  the  summer  of  1587,  when  Virginia,  in  her 
gorgeous  robes,  gleamed  out  to  the  worn  voyagers, 
like  the  isles  of  the  blessed.  Her  flowering  trees 
and  shrubs  sent  a  welcome  on  the  wings  of  odors, 
ere  the  embroidered  turf  kissed  their  feet. 

Vines,  loaded  with  clusters,  enriched  field  and 
grove ;  here  forming  dense  canopies  and  bowers  of 
shade,  and  there  springing  loftily  from  tree-top  to 
tree-top,  with  bold  festoons  and  flowing  drapery. 
Deer  glanced  through  the  forest,  and  birds  of  gay 
plumage  filled  the  balmy  air  with  music. 

The  strangers  sought  out  the  spot,  near  the  fair 


48  T  H  E    n  M  I  G  R  A  N  T    B  R  I  D  E. 

waters  of  the  lloanoke,  where,  two  years  before,  Sir 
Richard  Greenville  had  planted  a  colony  of  frail 
root,  whose  remnant  had  been  borne  back  by  Sir 
Francis  Drake  to  its  native  soil. 

These  guests  of  the  hospitality  of  the  broad,  green 
West  were  full  of  exultation,  and  zealous  to  con 
struct  places  of  shelter  and  repose.  None  more 
ardently  rejoiced  when  a  little  dwelling  was  ready, 
which  they  might  call  their  own,  than  Henry  Elton 
and  his  bride.  Its  rudeness,  its  narrow  limits,  were 
naught  to  them,  so  entirely  happy  were  they  to  pos 
sess  a  home  amid  the  charms  of  nature  and  the  soli 
tude  of  love.  Here  was  their  most  romantic  wish 
fulfilled — a  lodge  in  the  green  wood,  and  a  beauti 
ful  world  to  themselves. 

Alas  for  Susan,  when  a  change  first  stole  over  her 
dream.  Enthusiastic,  and  turning,  like  the  flower  of 
the  sun,  to  one  alone,  she  had  not  taken  into  view 
that  the  cloud  and  the  frost  must  have  their  season. 
At  first  she  wondered  that  Henry  could  so  often 
leave  her  and  so  long  be  gone,  or  that,  at  his  return, 
he  omitted  the  tender  words  she  had  been  accustom 
ed  to  hear.  But  the  smile  was  ever  radiant  on  her 
brow  when  he  appeared,  and  during  his  absence 
she  found  solace  in  household  toils,  putting  her  slen 
der,  snowy  hands,  with  strange  facility,  to  the  hum 
blest  deeds  that  might  render  a  poor  abode  com 
fortable,  or  vary  his  repast  who  was  ever  first  m  her 
thoughts.  While  thus  employed,  her  voice  rang  out 
sweetly  from  the  catalpas  that  embowered  her  dwell- 


THE    EMIGRANT    BRIDE.  49 

ing,  so  that  it  would  seem  that  the  birds  and  herself 
were  at  a  loving  strife.  But  the  tuneful  emulation 
soon  ceased,  and  her  song  rose  sad  and  seldom,  and 
then  was  heard  no  more. 

A  deeper  shadow  had  fallen  upon  her  lot.  Cap- 
tiousness  was  added  to  indifference  by  him  for  whom 
she  had  literally  given  up  all  besides.  A  fearful 
conviction,  which  she  strongly  resisted,  forced  itself 
upon  her,  of  his  frequent  intemperance.  Careless  of 
the  duties  of  a  protector,  he  would  sometimes  be 
away  whole  nights,  while  at  his  return  she  was 
doomed  to  witness  the  disgusting  gradations  from 
stupidity  to  brutality. 

Compunction,  indeed,  occasionally  seized  him,  and 
at  his  reviving  kindness  her  young  hope  whispered 
that  all  would  yet  be  well,  and  her  woman's  love 
forgot  that  it  had  ever  wept.  The  adversities  of  the 
colony  proved,  also,  a  temporary  remedy.  Poverty, 
and  a  scarcity  of  the  means  of  subsistence,  checked 
the  power  of  revelry,  and  taught  inebriety  absti 
nence.  Some  fear  of  savage  warfare  drew  the  lit 
tle  band  more  firmly  together,  for  consultation  and 
safety.  The  fierce  Wingina,  with  his  followers, 
were  observed  prowling  around  the  settlement. 
There  was  then  no  Powhatan  to  succor  the  stran 
gers,  no  Pocahontas  to  save  the  victim,  at  the  jeop 
ardy  of  her  own  life. 

In  the  mean  time,  she  who  had  staked  her  all  on 
love,  and  lost,  was  fondly  tenacious  of  its  fragments. 
Every  pleasant  look  or  gentle  word,  though  few  and 
4  E 


50  THEEMIGRANTBRIDE. 

far  between,  was  treasured  as  an  equivalent  for 
many  sorrows.  She  was  learning,  day  by  day,  the 
lesson  that  human  love  may  never  lay  aside  the  ele 
ment  of  forbearance.  It  was  touching  to  see  so 
young  and  fair  a  creature  so  sad,  and  yet  so  calm. 

One  evening  she  had  waited  long  for  her  husband, 
but  he  came  not.  A  step  was  heard.  Can  that  be 
his — so  stealthy1?  The  slight  fastening  of  the  door 
was  burst  in.  Dark  faces  peered,  wild  forms  glim 
mered.  The  stroke  of  a  hatchet,  and  the  red  flame 
bursting  from  the  jow  roof-tree,  were  the  work  of  a 
moment ;  and  from  the  girdle  of  the  tallest  warrior, 
when  he  strode  from  the  spoil,  hung  a  fresh  auburn 
tress. 

That  night  the  wail  of  a  wretched  man  was  heard 
over  the  ashes,  and  the  dead.  Daybreak  beheld 
him,  with  others,  armed,  and  going  forth  in  quest  of 
vengeance.  The  fires  of  wrath  fell  on  many  a  quiet 
wigwam,  and  innocent  women  and  babes  perished 
for  the  crime  of  their  chieftain.  Such  is  the  justice 
of  the  war  spirit — blind,  bloody,  and  ferocious. 

Three  years  notched  their  seasons  on  the  trees, 
and  threw  their  shadows  over  the  earth,  ere  England 
stretched  forth  her  hand  to  that  far,  forsaken  colony. 
Then  three  storm-driven  vessels,  as  the  dog-star 
commenced  his  reign,  were  seen  contending  with 
the  terrible  breakers  of  Cape  Hatteras.  Outriding 
both  surge  and  tempest,  at  length,  with  strained 
cordage  and  riven  sails,  they  neared  the  shore. 

They   fired    signal-guns,    and    anxiously  listened. 


THE    EMIGRANT    BRIDE.  51 

But  there  was  no  sound.  They  pressed  on  toward 
Roanoke,  Governor  White,  who  had  been  absent  on 
an  agency  to  England,  taking  the  lead.  Where  was 
his  sweet  daughter  Ellinor  Dare,  whom  he  had  left 
in  her  green-wood  home,  singing  the  lullaby  to  her 
young  babe,  Virginia,  the  first-born  of  English  pa 
rents  in  the  New  Western  World  1  As  he  drew 
near  the  spot,  he  kept  his  eye  fixed,  with  agonizing 
earnestness,  on  a  copse  of  lofty  pines  that  had  encir 
cled  her  habitation.  Smoke  reared  its  curling  vol 
ume  among  them,  and  his  heart  leaped  up.  It  was 
the  smouldering  council-fire  of  the  Indians. 

Not  a  home  of  civilized  man  was  there,  not  a 
form  or  face  of  kindred  or  of  friend.  They  call. 
There  is  no  answer,  but  echo  murmuring  from  rock 
and  ravine. 

Names  and  initials  are  still  cut  deeply  on  the 
trees,  but  where  are  the  hands  that  traced  them  ? 
All  is  silent  save  the  steps  of  those  who  search,  and 
the  sighs  of  those  who  mourn. 

By  the  shore  there  was  no  boat.  Over  some  bro 
ken  oars,  grass  and  weeds  had  crept.  Ruins  of  for 
mer  abodes  were  here  and  there  visible ;  portions  of 
household  utensils  and  implements  of  agriculture 
scattered  along  the  sands,  and  corroded  with  moist 
ure  ;  mingled  with  these  were  fragments  of  chests, 
torn  charts,  and  mutilated  books. 

Among  the  latter  was  a  thrilling  relic — a  Bible 
with  the  name  of  "Susan  Mortimer  Elton"  covered 
with  sanguine  spots.  Ah!  were  those  fair  eyes  rest- 


52  THE    EMIGRANT    BRIDE. 

ing  upon  that  blessed  book  when  the  destroyer 
came  ]  Was  that  pensive  pilgrim  there  gathering 
strength  for  her  thorn-clad  journey,  when  that  jour 
ney  was  about  to  close  1  Sacred  pages  !  did  she 
learn  from  you  that  earthly  love,  without  divine,  is 
unsafe  for  the  heirs  of  immortality  1  When  her 
heart's  idol  was  broken,  did  she  hearken  to  your 
whisper,  "Come,  weary  and  heavy-laden,  and  I  will 
give  you  rest  ?" 

Blood-stained  Bible  from  Virginian  sands !  we 
thank  thee  for  thine  enduring  friendship,  for  thy  last 
holy  offices  to  the  Emigrant  Bride. 


LADY  ARABELLA  JOHNSON. 


E  2 


"  The  honeysuckle  o'er  the  porch  hath  wove  its  wavy  bowers, 
And  by  the  meadow  trenches  blow  the  first  sweet  cuckoo  flowers  ; 
The  wild  marsh-marigold  shines  like  fire  in  swamps  and  hollows 

grey, 
And  I'm  to  he  Q.ueen  of  the  May,  mother — I'm  to  be  ftueen  of 

the  May. 

*  *  *  *  * 

The  building  rook  will  caw  from  the  wind-swept,  tall  elm  tree, 
And  the  tufted  plover  pipe  along  the  fallow  lea, 
And  the  swallow  will  come  back  again,  with  summer  o'er  the  wave, 
But  I  shall  lie  alone,  mother,  in  my  far  mouldering  grave." 

TEVNYSO.S. 


LADY  ARABELLA  JOHNSON. 


"  MOTHER,"  said  the  sweet  voice  of  a  young  and 
happy  girl,  "  shall  I  pass  for  a  May  queen  of  the  old 
en  time  1  A  deal  of  trouble  have  I,  and  my  tire 
woman  had  to  study  out  and  fit  up  this  antique  cos 
tume." 

The  Countess  of  Lincoln  might  be  forgiven  for  the 
flush  of  maternal  pride  that  passed  over  her  usually 
pallid  and  serious  face  as  she  gazed  on  the  exquisite 
beauty  of  the  joyous  creature  before  her. 

"  Go  to  your  grand-mother,  my  love ;  she  can  in 
struct  you  in  all  the  mysteries  of  the  toilet  of  her 
own  day.  Though,  if  your  dress  should  be  some 
what  of  the  composite  order,  it  is  surely  not  unbe 
coming." 

With  buoyant  step  the  fair  being  glided  through 
the  lofty  halls  of  the  baronial  castle,  and  bowed  her 
graceful  form  before  the  stately  countess  dowager, 
whose  hair  was  silvered  by  time,  though  the  fire  of 
her  dark,  aristocratic  eye  was  but  slightly  changed. 

"  Heyday,  my  Lady  Arabella  !  Queen  of  the  May 
indeed  !  Come  nearer,  and  let  me  arrange  your 
shoulder-knots.  There  should  have  been  more  starch 
in  your  standing  ruff.  Turn  round,  and  walk  before 


56        LADY  ARABELLA  JOHNSON. 

me  a  few  times.  Well,  on  the  whole,  it  is  quite  as 
well  as  could  be  expected.  A  merlin  on  your  hand, 
too  !  Indeed,  where  did  you  obtain  that  fine  bird  V 

"  I  supposed  that  a  falcon  was  indispensable  to  the 
array  of  a  fine  lady  of  the  last  century." 

"  True  ;  but  I  think  I  asked  you  where  you  ob 
tained  it." 

"  It  has  been  trained  for  the  occasion,  and  was  lent 
me  by  a  friend  of  the  family." 

"  Trained — for — the — occasion — and  lent — by — a 
friend — of  the  family  !  What  possible  need  can  there 
be  of  blushing,  my  Lady  Arabella,  about  a  goshawk 
and  a  friend  of  the  family  1  I  wish,  however,  that 
you  could  have  seen  some  of  the  belles  of  my  day. 
Why,  I  might  have  lent  you  some  rich  ornaments,  had 
you  condescended  to  apply  to  me." 

"  Dear  grand-mother,  have  you  forgotten  how  often 
I  consulted  you  about  the  dress  worn  by  the  queens 
of  May  in  the  times  of  Mary  and  Elizabeth1?" 

"  No,  child,  no  ;  I  gave  you  the  best  advice  I  could. 
I  was  never  fond  of  this  kind  of  mummery  for  noble 
men's  daughters  ;  it  savors  too  much  of  the  common 
people.  Would  that  you  had  been  taught  the  court 
ly  science  of  hawking.  That  was  a  right  royal  sport. 
Majestically  indeed  did  Queen  Elizabeth  ride ;  and 
well  do  I  remember  when  my  Lord  Montacute  en 
tertained  her  at  his  castle — for  I  had  also  the  honor 
to  be  invited — how  she  would  take  with  her  falcon 
several  birds  before  breakfast.  One  morning  early, 
a  cross-bow  being  delivered  into  her  hand,  with  due 


LADY     ARABELLA     JOHNSON.  57 

ceremony  she  rode  into  the  park  and  shot  four  fine 
deer  in  the  paddock,  and  was  back  before  you  would 
think  of  rising.  Truly,  after  she  was  seventy  years 
of  age,  she  delighted  in  the  chase,  and  managed  her 
steed  and  falcon  as  well  as  ever.  How  many  of 
you,  dainty,  fair-weather  dames,  will  do  as  much  ]" 

Arabella  had  been  trained  to  listen  with  a  martyr's 
patience  to  the  repetition  of  old-world  stories ;  but 
now,  as  soon  as  she  perceived  that  she  might  be  re 
leased,  bending  with  respectful  observance,  she  bound 
ed  away  like  a  young  gazelle. 

The  park,  to  which  she  hastened,  was  like  shorn 
velvet ;  and  the  feet  of  those  high-born  ladies  tripped 
there  as  gayly  as  those  of  the  peasant  girl  who  feels 
the  breath  of  spring  in  her  heart,  and  exults,  she 
knows  not  why.  A  select  party  were  assembled,  and, 
amid  songs  and  flower  strewings,  a  crown  of  fresh 
blossoms  was  placed  on  the  head  of  the  chosen  Queen 
of  May.  A  sumptuous  entertainment  was  spread  in 
bovvers  erected  for  that  purpose,  and  under  the  king 
ly  oaks. 

Afterward  the  servants,  in  their  best  attire,  danced 
around  the  lofty  May-pole,  and  partook  of  refresh 
ments  bounteously  distributed.  It  was  the  pleasure 
of  the  young  Earl  of  Lincoln  to  retain  some  of  the 
festivals  of  the  olden  time,  and  to  make  his  domestics 
happy.  He  felt  that  their  toils  were  thus  lightened, 
and  their  homes  rendered  more  dear. 

On  his  arm  leaned  his  widowed  mother.  Near 
them  stood  a  man  of  middle  age  and  thoughtful  as- 


58       LADY  ARABELLA  JOHNSON. 

pect.  This  was  Dudley,  the  friend  and  faithful  as 
sistant  of  his  father,  through  whose  financial  talents 
the  ancestral  estate,  formerly  impaired,  had  become 
unencumbered  and  rich  in  revenue. 

"  Seest  thou,  my  lord,"  he  said,  in  a  somewhat 
quaint  tone,  "  the  comely  countenance  of  the  damsel 
who  hath  just  crowned  the  Lady  Arabella?  She  is 
the  daughter  of  the  pious  Lord  Say.  Heretofore  I 
have  spoken  of  her  unto  thee.  Right  happy  would 
be  the  young  nobleman  who  should  win  her  to  his 
house  and  heart." 

Color  deepened  on  the  cheek  of  the  earl,  and  he 
turned  to  speak  to  a  young  man  in  the  group,  of  lofty 
form,  with  a  broad,  pure  forehead.  Still  the  words 
fell  on  an  almost  unconscious  ear,  so  fixed  was  the 
gazer's  eye  upon  every  movement  of  the  Lady  Ara 
bella,  who,  with  perfect  grace,  and  the  lightness  of  a 
happy  heart,  sported  among  her  companions.  When 
the  revels  drew  near  a  close,  she  waved  her  hand, 
and  the  bird  flew  from  it  to  his ;  and,  though  the 
smile  that  accompanied  the  deed  spoke  only  the  lan 
guage  of  girlish  and  guileless  simplicity,  yet  to  him 
it  was  beautiful  and  priceless. 

When  another  May  shed  its  gifts  on  the  earth, 
the  loveliness  of  that  fair  creature  had  come  forth 
into  rarer  and  more  exquisite  ripeness.  It  had  taken 
a  different  and  higher  character.  Deeper  thoughts 
sat  upon  the  brow,  and  a  more  serenS  happiness ; 
the  thought  gave  proof  of  an  earthly  love,  the  happi 
ness  of  a  heavenly  piety.  Both  these  guests  had  be- 


LADY  ARABELLA  JOHNSON.       59 

come  residents  in  her  bosom.  One  spoke  in  the  ten 
der  glance,  in  the  varying  rose-tint  of  the  alabaster 
cheek ;  the  other,  in  forgetfulness  of  self,  in  high  re 
solve,  in  tireless  charity,  in  every  meek  and  sweet 
modification  of  womanly  duty. 

Month  after  month  glided  away  on  swift  and 
blissful  pinions.  Pure  love  clad  earth  in  bright 
ness,  and  the  faith  of  the  Gospel  made  it  as  the  gate 
of  heaven. 

Winter  resumed  its  sway.  Ample  fires  diffused 
warmth  through  the  spacious  apartments  appropria 
ted  to  the  Countess  Dowager  of  Lincoln,  and  the 
evening  lamp  revealed  her  in  close  conversation  with 
the  young  earl. 

"  My  lord,  I  have  no  doubt  that  this  reference  to 
me  is  but  an  idle  ceremony.  Young  people  make 
up  their  minds  about  matrimony,  and  then  consult 
their  elders,  merely  to  give  countenance  to  their 
choice.  Yet  I  must  say,  that  I  deem  you  no  very 
vigilant  guardian  of  the  noble  blood  of  our  house. 
Your  own  meek  bride,  the  daughter  of  the  Lord  Say, 
I  like  well.  The  marriage  of  Frances  with  Sir  Fer- 
dinando  Gorges  I  approved  ;  but  I  never  sanctioned 
that  of  Susan  with  Mr.  Humphrey ;  and  now  it  seems 
you  advocate  the  suit  of  another  commoner,  and  that 
to  the  most  beautiful  of  your  sisters." 

"  Mr.  Johnson,  madam,  is  my  friend.  His  love  is 
reciprocated  by  Arabella.  It  was  not  the  question 
of  their  union  which  I  wished  to  submit  to  you,  but 
one  still  more  trying.  You  know, -dear  and  honored 


60       LADY   ARABELLA  JOHNSON. 

lady,  that  the  signs  of  the  times  are  dark.  Relig 
ious  liberty  is  invaded,  and  portents  of  revolution  are 
abroad.  Attention  has  been  turned  to  our  American 
colonies  as  a  place  of  refuge  in  case  these  fears  should 
be  realized.  It  has  been  deemed  expedient  that 
they  receive  accessions  of  men  of  wealth,  influence, 
and  education.  Such  are  ready  to  proceed  thither. 
Among  them,  Mr.  Johnson  has  received  a  high  ap 
pointment  in  the  government  of  New  England.  He 
has  accepted,  and,  of  course — " 

"  Of  course  what,  my  Lord  of  Lincoln  ]  Of  course, 
Arabella  is  to  have  a  hut  on  that  bleak  shore,  and, 
should  she  chance  to  escape  the  perils  of  the  sea,  may 
either  die  of  starvation,  or  be  scalped  and  eaten  by 
savages.  Has  her  mode  of  life  fitted  her  for  such 
hardships ]" 

"  It  has  not ;  but  in  her  soul  is  a  heroic  courage, 
a  holy  desire  to  do  good.  My  revered  father,  your 
beloved  son,  would  have  strengthened  her  in  this  self- 
devotion.  Methinks  I  hear  his  voice  from  the  man 
sions  of  celestial  joy,  '  Daughter,  go,  and  the  Lord 
be  with  thee.' " 

A  chord  was  touched,  to  which  the  heart  of  the 
aged  countess  ever  responded.  The  image  of  her 
son  still  ruled  her  spirit  with  a  magician's  power. 
Her  voice  grew  tremulous  as  she  inquired, 

"  Has  the  mother  consented  ]" 

"  She  freely  gives  her  darling  to  the  great  duties 
which  she  has  chosen,  and  to  God,  in  whom  she  has 
believed.  Let  her  cheerful  resignation  be  our  ex- 


LADY  ARABELLA  JOHNSON.       '61 

ample.  Will  you  give  me  permission  to  bring  Ara 
bella  to  receive  your  blessing,  ere  you  retire  to  re 
pose  ]" 

He  left  the  room,  and  soon  re-entered,  leading  his 
sister.  She  knelt  at  the  feet  of  her  father's  mother, 
and  buried  her  face  in  the  deep,  rich  folds  of  her 
garment.  The  pride  of  the  aged  countess  was  van 
quished  by  this  affectionate  and  lamb-like  deport 
ment.  Tears  coursed  down  her  withered  cheeks  as 
she  laid  both  her  hands  upon  her  head,  and  whispered, 
"  God  bless  thee,  my  poor  child  !  God  Almighty 
bless  thee !" 

Spring  began  to  breathe  upon  the  frosts ;  but  she 
wrought  tardily,  as  if  her  heart  was  elsewhere,  or  as 
if  she  even  bore  traitorous  likeness  to  the  winter  she 
had  promised  to  subdue.  The  sigh  of  her  fitful  winds 
added  sadness  to  the  parting  scene  in  the  castle  of 
the  Earl  of  Lincoln.  There  a  young  bride,  around 
whom  the  spell  of  loveliness  was  wrapped  as  a  man 
tle,  bade  adieu  to  the  objects  of  her  earliest  love. 
She  had  taken  her  last  look  from  every  window  on 
each  feature  of  the  landscape  ;  she  had  stood  under 
the  ancestral  oaks,  and  blessed  them  for  the  many 
times  they  had  taken  her  lovingly  under  their  can 
opy  ;  and  lingered  among  her  flower-beds,  though 
only  the  snow-drop  and  the  crocus  came  forth  to  bid 
her  farewell. 

And  now,  the  last  hour  had  come.  Inexpressibly 
tender,  yet  calm  as  a  seraph,  was  her  parting  from 
the  aged  countess,  and  her  brothers  and  sisters ; 
F 


62       LADY  ARABELLA  JOHNSON. 

though  the  two  youngest  ones,  in  whose  sports  she 
had  mingled,  while  she  aided  in  their  education,  clung 
sobbing  to  her  garments.  A  second  time  she  threw 
her  arms  around  her  eldest  brother. 

"  My  noble  brother,  thou  hast  been  to  me  as  a  fa 
ther.  Heaven  reward  thee !" 

Still  she  paused.  The  most  bitter  drop  in  the  cup 
remained.  She  evidently  shrank  from  it.  Yet  it 
was  but  for  a  moment,  and  that  moment  was  a  prayer. 
Then  she  flung  herself  upon  the  neck  of  her  mother. 
Long  and  tearful  was  that  embrace.  And  then  the 
beautiful  being  raised  her  head  like  a  lily  from  the 
rain-storm.  There  was  a  murmured  solace,  each 
to  the  other,  as  they  parted, 

"  In  that  brighter  world,  sweet  soul,  in  that  bright 
er  world  !" 

Ships  were  riding  at  anchor  on  a  thronged  shore. 
There  were  tender  partings,  sad  separations  of  "  link 
ed  spirits"  ere  the  sails  spread,  and  glided  gracefully 
along  their  path  of  waters.  Then  burst  forth  a  strain 
of  music,  solemn,  sonorous,  the  hymn  of  the  pilgrims. 
It  grew  sweeter  and  more  faint  on  the  distance.  A 
freshening  gale  swept  its  cadence  from  the  listeners 
on  the  strand.  But  the  enthusiasm  of  the  moment 
died  not  away,  among  those  voyagers  to  the  far  west 
ern  world.  Unblenching  spirits  were  there,  stayed 
upon  omnipotent  strength.' 

In  a  recess  of  the  cabin  of  the  principal  ship  sat 
the  bride  of  Johnson.  He  knelt  beside  her.  Her 
face,  veiled  by  its  wealth  of  tresses,  rested  upon  his 


LADY  ARABELLA  JOHNSON.       63 

shoulder.  As  she  raised  it,  there  was  the  calm  ex 
pression  of  a  holy  trust. 

"  Think  not,  my  love,  that  my  heart  misgave  me, 
because  it  so  clung  in  the  last  embrace  to  her  who 
watched  over  my  cradle ;  for,  as  my  Redeemer  liv- 
eth,  I  had  rather  thus  follow  thee  over  the  sea  to  a 
home  in  the  wilderness,  than,  without  thee,  to  dwell 
in  the  courts  of  princes.  Where  thou  diest  will  I 
die,  and  there  will  I  be  buried." 

As  she  spoke,  her  tender  tones  gathered  depth, 
and  light  streamed  through  her  eyes  from  the  altar 
of  a  fervent  soul.  The  voice  of  him  who  responded 
was  choked  with  emotion. 

"  The  Lord  do  so  to  me,  and  more  also,  if  aught 
but  death  part  thee  and  me.  Yet  the  vow  of  the  Mo- 
abitess  is  weak.  Death  shall  not  separate  us.  It 
will  be  but  the  dawn  of  a  brighter  day,  of  an  eter 
nal  union." 

Slowly  the  patient  vessels  ploughed  the  deep. 
The  second  moon  was  approaching  its  wane.  Its 
rays  silvered  the  broad  Atlantic.  Many  of  the 
emigrants  paced  the  deck,  gazing  upon  the  quiet 
scsne. 

"  See,"  said  Johnson,  whose  arm  supported  the 
fragile  form  of  his  wife,  "  how  every  rising  billow 
takes  a  portion  of  brightness,  and  bowing  its  laden 
crest,  is  seen  no  more." 

"  Methinks  we  are  long  upon  these  waters,"  uttered 
a  deep,  manly  voice.  Turning,  they  saw  Winthrop, 
the  appointed  Governor  of  the  Massachusetts,  stand- 


64  LADY     ARABELLA     JOHNSON. 

ing  in  the  strong  shadow  of  a  mast,  against  which  he 
leaned. 

"  Were  my  Margaret  thus  by  my  side,  Johnson,  I 
might  moralize  like  you  about  the  tossing  ocean,  and 
still  keep  my  happiness  secure." 

"  I  see  not  here  your  son,  young  Henry  Winthrop," 
said  the  Lady  Arabella.  "  I  thought  he  was  to  have 
been  of  our  company." 

"  He  was  left  behind  when  we  sailed  from  the 
Cowes.  Doubtless,  he  is  now  upon  the  wide  sea  in 
some  one  of  the  fourteen  vessels  that  compose  our 
fleet.  I  regret  the  mistake  that  separated  him  from 
me." 

"  An  eye  that  never  slumbers  will  look  with  a 
fatherly  care  upon  both." 

"  Ever  ready  art  thou,  with  sweet  and  devout  con 
solations,  my  Lady  Arabella.  But  a  parent  hath 
many  cares  which  the  newly-wedded  comprehend 
not." 

"  Truly,  Henry  Winthrop  is  a  sprightly  youth,  and 
of  an  amiable  spirit." 

"  From  his  very  accomplishments,  his  faults  do 
grow.  He  is  warm-hearted  and  trustful.  Impatient 
is  he,  also,  and  balanceth  not  means  with  ends.  He 
hath  been  some  time  married,  and  yet  is  he  but  a  boy. 
Had  he  the  gravity  and  discretion  of  John,  my  first 
born,  I  should  feel  no  anxiety  though  he  were  a  voy 
ager  among  strangers,  or  even  with  evil  men." 

"  Do  you  not  often  think  of  your  babes,  sporting 
under  the  shady  trees  of  their  fair  home  at  (rroton  ?" 


LADY  ARABELLA  JOHNSON.        65 


"  I  see  them  in  my  dreams  ;  their  little  voices 
come  to  me  like  the  chirping  of  young  birds.  And 
'at  midnight  my  prayer  goes  upward  that  He  who 
forgetteth  not  the  raven's  nest  will  keep  them  and 
their  loving,  brooding  mother." 

"  See  how  the  Talbot  seems  to  sleep  upon  the  wa 
ters,"  said  Dudley,  joining  their  group.  "  I  saw  the 
Ambrose  when  the  sun  went  down,  looming  up,  large 
and  high,  like  a  living  thing.  A  sharp  look-out  do  I 
keep  upon  our  three  companions,  pioneers  as  we  are 
in  this  expedition.  But  none  cut  the  waves  with  such 
dignity  as  the  Arabella.  Feels  she  not  the  honor  of 
the  name  she  bears  1" 

"I  have  ever  thought,"  said  the  Lady  Arabella, 
"  that  her  old  name,  the  Eagle,  was  fitter  for  an  ad 
miral-ship,  because  the  king  of  birds  doth  bear  him 
self  so  nobly.  But  look  how  the  Jewel,  our  light- 
bearer,  runs  before  us  toward  yon  dark-lined  cloud, 
like  a  glow-worm." 

"  The  evening  air  grows  chill,  my  love,"  said  John 
son.  "  It  would  be  safest  to  be  sheltered  from  it ;" 
and  he  wrapped  his  cloak  around  her  as  she  descend 
ed,  with  a  nursing  tenderness. 

"  I  like  not  that  circle  around  the  waning  moon," 
said  Winthrop  to  the  captain. 

"  It  bodes  no  good,  governor.  God  grant  us  soon 
to  see  the  fair  New  England  coast." 

The  next  morning  lowering  clouds  skirted  the 
horizon.  Winds  muttered  in  the  distance,  and  slow 
ly  rose,  as  if  for  vengeful  deeds.  The  ships  tossed 
5  F  2 


G6        LADY  ARABELLA  JOHNSON. 

wildly.  Night  closed  in  with  thick  darkness,  save 
when  lightnings  pierced  its  sable  canopy.  Every 
timber  creaked  and  groaned.  It  would  seem  that 
the  ships  themselves,  in  pain,  mourned  the  misery  of 
those  whom,  having  received  to  their  bosom,  they 
were  too  weak  to  succor. 

To  the  uninitiated,  the  tumult  of  a  storm  at  sea  is 
ever  appalling.  Shut  below,  they  hear  the  fearful 
conflict  of  blast  with  billow,  the  moan  of  the  smitten 
vessel,  the  shriek  of  the  commander's  trumpet,  the  cry 
and  confusion  of  the  people,  who  are  at  their  wits' 
end.  The  "  thunder  of  the  captain's,  and  the  shout 
ing,"  alarm  the  poor  novices,  and  the  crashing  of  ev 
ery  spar  is  to  them  as  a  death  signal.  Neither  are 
their  apprehensions  quieted,  if,  venturing  to  look 
above,  they  see  the  sailors  running  hither  and  thith 
er  with  their  dim  lights,  or  climbing,  with  spectral 
aspect,  among  the  slippery  shrouds. 

In  the  cabin  of  the  Arabella,  friends  and  families 
were  clustering  together.  From  many  an  agonized 
group  rose  the  wail  of  grief,  the  weeping  of  child 
hood,  or  the  voice  of  prayer. 

"  Husband,"  said  the  Lady  Arabella,  "  if  our  bed 
is  now  in  the  deep,  our  spirits  shall  go  up  together, 
and  so  be  forever  with  the  Lord.  Glorious  hope  ! 
How  much  sweeter  to  me  than  the  thought  of  hav 
ing  thee  first  taken,  and  living  on  lonely  years  of  bit 
terness  without  thee." 

"  Would  to  God,  my  dearest,  in  this  most  awful 
hour,  thy  calmness  was  mine.  Would  that  no  strong 


LADY  ARABELLA  JOHNSON.        '67 

desire  of  life  with  thee,  no  memory  of  un repented 
sin,  rose  up  to  trouble  the  soul." 

He  clasped  her  closer  to  his  bosom,  as  though  he 
would  fain  shield  her  from  the  surge,  which  they  ex 
pected  soon  to  ingulf  them. 

"  Why  dost  thou  withdraw  from  me,  love  1  It  is 
impossible  for  thee  to  stand,  while  the  ship  so  terri 
bly  rolls  and  plunges." 

She  pointed  him  to  a  female  who  lay  in  the  deep 
sickness  of  fear,  and  whose  wailing  infant  had  fallen 
from  her  arms.  She  desired  to  receive  it  in  her  own, 
and  Johnson  laid  it  there.  She  pressed  its  little  chill 
cheek  to  hers,  and  lulled  it  with  a  low,  whispered 
melody.  The  poor  innocent  moaned  for  a  while, 
then,  clinging  closer  to  its  protector,  seemed  ready 
to  pass  into  a  peaceful  dream. 

"  Dearest,  let  me  take  the  child,  or  restore  it  to  its 
mother.  Its  weight  oppresses  you." 

"  Oh  no,  so  please  you,  let  it  rest  here.  See,  the 
poor  mother  is  almost  as  helpless  as  itself.  How  its 
little  hand  clasps  mine  !  It  will  be  pleasanter  to  die 
giving  comfort  to  something,  even  the  humblest  creat 
ure.  How  much  pleasanter  than  worn  out  with  dis 
ease,  and  distressing  others  by  groans  and  agony. 
Is  it  not  so,  my  love  1" 

But  he  who  was  thus  addressed,  lingering  on  her 
pure,  heavenly  smile,  answered  not.  His  heart  was 
absorbed  in  her,  and  in  her  danger.  The  hope  of 
life  was  not  perfectly  renounced,  and  the  being  who 
made  it  most  dear  filled  every  thought. 


68  LADY    ARABELLA    JOHNSON. 

All  that  night,  and  through  the  next  day,  the  tem 
pest  raged.  Then  its  violence  abated,  and  the  sob 
of  the  sea,  for  many  hours,  was  like  that  of  a  spent 
maniac.  The  storm-driven  vessels  sought  to  draw 
near  each  other,  to  consult  how  their  rent  sails,  shat 
tered  cordage,  and  broken  masts,  might  be  best  re 
paired. 

The  sun  of  the  third  day  rose  cloudless  from  the 
deep.  It  was  the  Sabbath.  What  soothing  repose, 
what  unutterable  gratitude  did  it  bring  to  hearts  so 
long  agitated  and  sorrowing. 

The  deck  of  the  Arabella  was  cleared  for  divine 
service.  Two  clergymen,  the  Rev.  Mr.  John  Wil 
son,  and  the  Rev.  Mr.  George  Phillips,  were  of  their 
company.  One  led  the  devotions  of  the  people  in  a 
long  and  fervent  prayer,  the  other  rose  to  speak  from 
the  words  of  the  Psalmist, 

"  He  maketh  a  storm,  a  calm ;  so  He  bringeth 
them  to  their  desired  haven." 

After  opening,  and  applying  the  beautiful  passage 
to  their  recent  danger  and  deliverance,  he  ex 
claimed, 

"  What  favored  orator  hath  such  magnificent  sound 
ing-board  as  your  preacher?  What  proud  cathedral 
hath  such  canopy  as  yon  blue,  unsullied,  immeasura 
ble  skies  ? 

"Who  hath  such  an  audience?  The  huge  billows, 
and  tho  domineering  waves  that  lash  them,  and  the 
monsters  of  the  deep  that  play  around  us  ;  the  whale, 
lifting  up  his  huge  bulk  like  an  island,  and  the  shark 


LADY    ARABELLA    JOHNSON.  GO 

with  his  terrible  teeth,  who  following,  would  fain  de 
vour  us,  did  not  God  stay  him. 

"  Again,  I  say,  who  hath  such  an  audience  1  Ex 
iles  from  the  home  of  their  fathers ;  crusaders,  with 
out  the  red  cross  banner,  not  stirred  up  by  monkish 
eloquence  to  fight  the  infidels  for  the  tomb  of  Christ, 
but  going  to  tell  the  roving  and  red-browed  heathen, 
that  Jesus  died.  I  see  before  me  the  governor  and 
deputy-governor  of  the  future  colony,  the  worship 
ful  assistants,  who  are  to  share  in  the  cares  of  gov 
ernment,  the  pillars  of  the  Church,  the  parents  of  an 
unborn  nation,  the  babe  born  upon  the  waters,  the 
mother  who  is  to  nurse  her  offspring  in  a  land  un 
known  ;  pilgrims,  strangers,  yet  princely  heirs  of  an 
inheritance  that  fadeth  not  away." 

With  a  freedom  from  constraint,  which  their  situa 
tion  justified,  he  spoke  tenderly  of  their  native  realm, 
of  Charles,  their  monarch,  then  in  the  fifth  year  of 
his  troubled  reign,  and  expatiated  on  the  past,  the 
present,  and  the  future,  till  the  tears  of  memory  and 
of  hope  mingled  on  many  a  lifted  brow.  His  hear 
ers  shrank  not  from  the  multiplied  heads  of  his  dis 
course,  nor  were  anxious  lest  its  length  should  weary 
them,  but  treasured  up  the  "  precious  word  of  doc 
trine  as  seed  that  was  to  fructify  in  their  souls,"  liv- 
ino-  bread  that  could  sustain  them  in  the  wilderness. 

O 

Still  long  days  and  wearisome  nights  were  appoint 
ed  to  the  voyagers.  How  often  was  the  desired  coast 
hailed  in  imagination  only  to  resolve  itself  into  a 
cloud  again.  Once,  at  the  peep  of  dawn,  a  cry  from 


70        LADY  ARABELLA  JOHNSON. 

the  helm  of  "  Land  ahead  /"  brought  upon  the  deck  a 
rush  of  footsteps.  Pale,  haggard  faces  saw  the  ob 
ject  of  their  desire,  and  brightened  with  joy. 

Soon  after  was  a  clapping  of  hands,  and  a  cry  of 
young  voices,  "  The  bird  !  the  bird  1"  A  pigeon  from 
the  shore  folded  its  weary  wing,  and  alighted  among 
the  shrouds.  The  children  regarded  it  with  delight, 
as,  turning  its  head  from  side  to  side,  it  revealed  the 
changing  shades  of  its  irised  neck.  They  crumbled 
their  stale  bread,  which  the  long  voyage  had  ren 
dered  scanty,  and  strove  to  allure  to  nearer  compan 
ionship  this  pretty  aerial  messenger  from  the  New 
World. 

"  Oh  !  wife,  dearest  one,"  said  Johnson,  "  scent  you 
not  the  sweet  land  breeze  1" 

"  It  comes  to  me  like  the  breath  of  my  own  gar 
den,  where  I  sported  with  my  little  sisters.  It  lifts  a 
weight  from  my  spirit."  And  she  clasped  her  thin, 
white  hands  in  silent  devotion. 

They  came  to  anchor  in  a  narrow  strait,  between 
islands  whose  green  copses  and  thickets,  seemed  to 
eyes  which  had  so  long  gazed  but  upon  sea  and  sky, 
like  the  waving  shades  of  Gerizzim  to  the  Israelites. 

"  Is  not  this  one  of  the  happiest  days  of  our  lives  ]" 
said  Dudley,  as  the  barque  cut  the  waters  which  was 
to  bear  them  to  their  new  home.  "  Seventy-five  days' 
confinement  on  ship-board  is  long  enough  for  a  lands 
man." 

"How  count  you,  Governor  Dudley'?"  asked  the 
Lady  Arabella.  "  I  scarcely  dare  to  question  your 


LADY  ARABELLA  JOHNSON.        71 

accuracy,  but  yet,  from  April  6th  to  this  blessed  12th 
of  June,  1630,  I  make  but  sixty-seven  days." 

"  Ah !  dear  lady,  you  are  thinking  of  your  lover- 
like  walks  with  Isaac  Johnson  amid  the  picturesque 
scenery  of  the  Isle  of  Wight,  where  you  stopped  to 
refresh  yourselves.  But  remember,  only  a  few  par 
took  that  privilege.  We,  poor  matter-of-fact  peo 
ple,  who  went  not  on  shore  since  we  weighed  anchor 
at  the  Coves  on  the  29th  of  March,  have  we  not  been 
these  seventy-five  good  days  and  nights  on  the  salt 
sea  1  Cupid  may  make  his  notes  on  a  rose-leaf,  or 
a  butterfly's  wing,  but  deprived  husbands,  or  still 
sadder  bachelors,  must  needs  notch  our  records  on 
the  dull  log-book  of  lonely  hearts." 

Salem,  where  they  landed,  was  pleasant,  even  in 
its  scarce-unfolded  rudiments.  Endicot  and  his  peo 
ple,  had  labored  there  diligently,  and  judiciously. 
Their  welcome  to  the  new-comers  was  warm,  and 
they  gladly  lent  every  aid  in  their  power,  to  comfort 
and  accommodate  them.  One  by  one,  the  other  ves 
sels  of  the  fleet  arrived.  In  the  course  of  that  year, 
seventeen  were  sent  from  the  mother  country,  with 
rich  accessions  to  the  colony. 

A  fortnight  had  elapsed  since  the  arrival  of  the  Ar 
abella,  when  a  group  were  observed  coming  from 
the  water  with  slow,  sad  step.  Evidently  they  were 
bearing  the  dead.  Suppressed  murmurs  rose  here 
and  there :  "  The  poor  governor !  such  a  beautiful 
young  man!  only  yesterday  arrived — drowned  in 
bathing !  Who  can  bear  the  news  to  his  father  ]" 


72  LADY     ARABELLA     JOHNSON. 

Ere  they  were  aware,  Winthrop  stood  among  them. 
There  lay  his  son,  whom  but  the  day  before  he  had 
welcomed  in  the  bloom  of  health.  For  a  moment  he 
was  pale  as  the  clay  over  which  he  bent.  The  be 
reavement  sank  into  his  soul,  and  he  sought  his  God. 
He  was  long  in  solitary  prayer.  From  that  time  he 
spoke  not  of  his  sorrow.  He  gave  himself  day  by 
day  to  those  cares  for  the  colony  which,  from  his 
high  station,  devolved  on  him.  But  at  night,  in  his 
lone  recess,  the  image  of  the  fair  youth,  with  his  drip 
ping  locks,  cut  down  in  a  moment,  came  over  him, 
and  the  cry  of  "  Oh,  Henry  !  my  son  !  my  son  !" 
showed  how  the  unbending  magistrate  melted  in  the 
agonized  father. 

Rude  were  the  habitations  that  sheltered  the  early 
colonists.  In  one  of  these,  with  a  countenance  light 
ed  up  by  cheerfulness  and  love,  Lady  Arabella  John 
son  received  her  husband  on  his  return  from  a  short 
but  toilsome  journey.  Such  comforts  as  she  could 
procure  were  around  them  ;  and,  while  she  presided 
at  their  rude  table,  she  listened  with  delighted  inter 
est  to  the  narrative  of  his  expedition. 

"  Separation  from  you  but  for  one  day,  how  pain 
ful,  dearest  Arabella.  Earnestly  did  I  long  for  you 
by  my  own  side,  July  30th,  amid  those  solemn  exer 
cises  in  which  we  made  covenant  with  God.  It  was 
beneath  the  lofty  canopy  of  a  broad-spreading  oak  in 
Charlestown  that  our  pastor,  John  Wilson,  prayed 
and  preached  with  a  holy  fervor.  Then  he,  with  the 
Governors  Winthrop,  Dudley,  and  myself,  taking  sol- 


LADY  ARABELLA  JOHNSON.        '73 

emn  vows,  laid  the  foundation  of  our  infant  Church. 
It  was  a  season  to  repay  us  for  every  hardship,  every 
toil,  yea,  to  lift  the  soul  gloriously  above  the  earth. 
How  I  regret  that  the  laborious  traveling  in  this  un 
cleared  land,  prevents  thy  participation  in  scenes  thou 
wouldst  so  much  enjoy." 

But  there  existed  a  deeper  reason  why  the  affec 
tionate  wife  should  not  accompany  her  husband.  It 
was  written  on  her  wasting  brow,  in  the  strange  and 
fitful  brilliance  of  her  eye.  Still  he,  who  was  most 
of  all  concerned  in  this  change,  was  the  last  to  per 
ceive  it.  Her  sweet  smile,  her  animated  manner, 
whenever  he  was  near,  deceived  him.  He,  indeed, 
could  not  fail  to  observe  the  emaciation  of  her  frame  ; 
but  he  imputed  it  to  the  long,  tedious  voyage,  an  ef 
fect,  in  some  degree,  common  to  them  all.  Zealous 
ly,  and  with  the  sleepless  ingenuity  of  love,  he  strove 
to  shelter  her  from  every  privation.  It  affected  him 
sometimes  even  to  tears,  to  see  her  sustain  the  strong 
contrasts  between  her  present  and  former  modes  of 
life,  with  a  spirit  as  lucid  and  playful  as  the  sun 
beam. 

But,  as  the  summer  verged  toward  its  close,  he 
became  alarmed  at  a  debility  which  she  could  no 
longer  conceal.  Then  his  apprehensions  wrought 
painfully  with  regard  to  the  approaching  winter. 

"  I  shall  rear  thee  a  bower,  my  love,  which  no  blast 

can  penetrate.    The  imperishable  heart  of  yon  mighty 

forest-trees  shall  be  its  walls,  and  I  will  line  it  with 

the  warmest  fur  of  the  beaver.     "Winter  shall  not 

G 


74        LADY  ARABELLA  JOHNSON. 

dare  to  look  at  thee,  my  bird,  in  the  nest  that  I  shall 
build  thee." 

"  Be  not  anxious  about  me,  dearest  husband.  This 
rude  hut  is  more  precious  to  me  than  the  proudest 
castle  without  thee.  I  bless  God  for  having  brought 
me  to  this  New  World." 

Ho  was  troubled  at  the  paleness  of  her  brow,  and 
drew  her  head  to  rest  upon  his  bosom,  as  he  said, 

"  I  am  ever  hoping  for  the  day  when  thou  canst 
travel  with  me  to  the  beautiful  tri-mountain,  where 
I  trust  to  persuade  the  governor  to  establish  our 
principal  city.  As  yet  there  is  no  residence  upon 
it  save  the  lonely  cottage  of  William  Blackstone. 
But  the  softness  of  its  peninsular  verdure,  and  its 
swell  above  the  blue  waters,  is  picturesque  beyond 
description." 

Raising  upward,  and  fixing  her  eyes,  she  murmur 
ed,  "  Behold,  I  see  a  more  goodly  mountain.  Are 
not  yonder  the  'trees  of  lign-aloes,  which  the  Lord 
hath  planted  V  Or  are  they  the  groves  by  my  fa 
ther's  house,  under  whose  shade  I  reposed,  and 
through  whose  boughs  the  trembling  moonbeams 
looked  down?" 

Startled  at  her  hollow  tone,  the  fearful  thought 
for  the  first  time  swept  over  his  soul,  that  the  young 
and  beautiful  wife  was  about  to  go  home  to  the  coun 
try  of  perfect  love. 

It  was  so.  That  strong  pressure  of  her  hand  was 
the  death-clasp.  There  was  no  farewell  save  a  moan, 
in  which  the  spirit  had  no  part.  It  seemed  but  the 


LADY  ARABELLA  JOHNSON.       '75 

passing  forth  of  breath  from  tubes  where  it  had  long 
made  music,  or  the  sigh  of  a  closed  instrument,  vi 
brating  for  a  moment  after  melody  had  forsaken  it. 

And  there  sat  the  survivor,  with  the  precious  burd 
en  in  his  arms,  the  marble  cheek  resting  against  his 
own.  Expect  us  not  to  describe  his  grief,  nor  the 
mourning  of  the  colony  over  its  benefactress  and  its 
pride. 

The  desolated  one  lifted  feebly  his  head  from  the 
grave  of  his  idol,  to  discharge  the  duties  that  devolv 
ed  upon  him.  The  welfare  of  a  young  country  strug 
gling  into  existence,  and  the  relief  of  poverty  and 
sorrow,  were  his  cares.  He  sustained  them  faithful 
ly,  and  in  the  spirit  of  meekness,  but  for  pleasure  on 
earth  he  sought  not. 

It  was  on  the  7th  of  September,  1631,  that  the 
beautiful  site  of  his  selection  received  the  name  of 
Boston.  He  was  present  at  its  baptism.  But  so 
changed  !  It  was  evident  to  all  observers  that  he 
only  endured  life.  For  every  service  of  liberality 
or  piety  he  girded  himself,  but  his  heart  was  with 
the  treasure  that  had  flown. 

Ere  another  autumnal  moon  had  filled  its  horn,  the 
turf  where  he  had  projected  a  garden  and  a  bower 
for  his  beloved  companion,  was  laid  upon  his  breast. 
The  father  of  Boston  gave  to  its  Chapel-burying- 
ground  the  first  hallowed  dust. 

The  lives  of  our  colonial  ancestors  abound  not 
in  romantic  adventure.  Yet  they  are  rich  in  exam 
ple,  and  in  such  traces  as  the  heart  cherishes  with 


76        LADY  ARABELLA  JOHNSON. 


pride.  And  if  the  name  of  Cecrops,  through  the  dim 
and  distant  wastes  of  time,  hath  come  down  to  us, 
burning  like  a  "  bright,  particular  star,"  as  the  found 
er  of  Athens,  let  not  his  name  be  forgotten  who  plant 
ed  in  the  western  wild  our  crowning  city,  the  Athens 
of  New  England. 


MARY   RICE. 


"A  violet  by  a  mossy  stone, 

Half  hidden  from  the  eye, 
Fair  as  a  star,  when  only  one 
Is  shining  in  the  sky." 

WORDSWORTH. 


MARY   RICE, 


A  FAIR  girl  was  getting  water  at  a  spring.  It  bub 
bled  up,  clear  as  crystal,  in  its  bed  of  shelving  rock. 
All  around  was  in  the  deep  solitude  of  nature.  The 
path  to  the  fountain  was  imperfectly  wrought  out  by 
the  track  of  feet,  amid  the  tangled  thicket.  The  un 
peopled  \vild  was  overshadowed  by  dense  masses  of 
forest-trees,  which  were  now  glowing  with  the  rich 
tints  of  a  New  England  autumn,  softened  by  the  slant 
rays  of  a  declining  sun. 

But  the  being  who  alone  gave  life  to  this  land 
scape,  bore  no  brow  of  hermit  or  of  ascetic.  Appa 
rently  between  sixteen  and  seventeen,  her  fully- 
rounded  form  combined  strength  with  the  grace  of 
early  womanhood.  The  beauty  of  health  spoke 
through  her  fine  complexion  and  unconstrained 
movement,  while  her  hazel  eye  beamed  with  a 
cheerful  courage,  as  if,  from  the  habit  of  looking  on 
the  bright  side  of  things,  it  had  gathered  brightness. 
The  light  of  her  glad  spirit  seemed  to  flow  forth 
and  mingle  with  the  pure  sunbeam,  that  was  stream 
ing  through  every  nook  and  glade  of  the  wilderness. 

Suddenly  a  boy,  younger  than  herself,  made  his 
way  through  the  interwoven  copse-wood.  "  Mary 
Rice  !  sister!  why  did  you  not  tell  me  that  you  need- 


80  MARY    RICE. 


ed  water  from  the  spring  ]  It  is  not  my  will  and 
pleasure  that  you  should  be  either  a  hewer  of  wood 
or  a  drawer  of  water." 

Regarding  him  with  an  affectionate  smile  as  she 
resigned  her  burden  to  him,  they  began  to  ascend 
together  a  long  and  steep  hill.  Then  a  voice  of 
clear,  rich  music  broke  the  silence. 

"  Brother  mine,  I  have  thought  of  late  that  there 
was  sadness  on  your  brow.  Am  I  right  1" 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure.  How  can  it  be  otherwise  in 
this  strange,  lone  place.  I  have  never  been  content 
ed,  the  whole  year  that  we  have  lived  here.  I  won 
der  why  father  removed  from  our  old  home  in  Marl- 
borough.  It  was  far  pleasanter  there,  where  we 
could  see  some  other  smoke  besides  our  own,  go 
Curling  up  into  the  blue  sky.  Here,  if  you  take  a 
walk  into  the  woods — and  there  is  nowhere  else  to 
walk — the  deadly  snake  shakes  its  rattle  at  you,  or 
some  serpent  darts  out  a  forked  tongue,  while  the 
only  music  is  the  howling  of  wolves,  or  the  wild  cat 
pun-ing  in  its  lair." 

"  Except  the  merry  song  of  birds.  Open  your 
ears  just  a  moment  now,  to  their  melody.  They 
seem  to  be  pouring  out  a  full  chorus,  perhaps  for  our 
especial  benefit,  perhaps  their  own  sweet  good-night 
to  each  other." 

"  The  birds  and  you  are  particular  friends,  I  per 
ceive.  As  for  me,  I  think  more  of  the  war-whoop 
of  Indians.  It  is  rather  singular  that  father  should 
choose  to  settle  on  the  very  spot  where  they  mur- 


M  A  R  Y     U  I  C  E.  81 


dered  Serjent,  and  carried  his  family  away  captive. 
They  would  naturally  come  to  the  old  place  again 
when  they  prowl  for  prey.  Now  you  need  not  look 
so  sharp  at  me,  Madam  Rice,  as  though  you  took  me 
for  a  coward.  I  tell  you,  if  the  worst  comes  to  the 
worst,  you'll  find  me  as  good  a  soldier  as  ever  taught 
the  red-skins  how  to  skulk  back  to  their  wigwams." 

"  In  the  mean  time,  bold  brother,  let  us  try  to  be 
happy,  and  to  make  others  so.  Is  it  not  the  duty  of 
us,  who  are  young,  to  help  and  cheer  our  parents, 
and  not  hang  like  mill-stones  around  their  necks,  to 
sink  them  in  deeper  waters  1" 

"  Many  thanks  for  your  sermon,  most  revei'end 
teacher.  It  is  right  good  and  wholesome  doctrine. 
But  if  Uncle  Gershom  Rice  should  remove  here,  as 
I  understand  he  talks  of  doing,  and  my  eyes  behold 
another  roof  among  yonder  tall,  gloomy  trees,  so.  that 
we  are  not  quite  cast  out  from  all  the  world  beside, 
it  would  vastly  add  to  the  force  of  your  exhortations." 

"  Dear  brother,  as  long  as  there  is  love  in  our  own 
hearts  for  each  other  and  our  Father  in  heaven,  let 
us  not  displease  Him  by  complaining.  Come,  cheer 
up  for  my  sake.  I  dare  say  you'll  live  to  see  this 
fine  country  full  of  people.  Who  knows  but  a  fu 
ture  race  will  number  you  among  its  very  worthy 
and  renowned  ancestors.  Will  not  that  be  some 
payment  for  fighting  rattlesnakes,  and  running  away 
from  bears  and  panthers  ?  Come,  my  soldier  that  is 
to  be,  bring  us  fresh  milk  from  the  cow,  and  see 
what  a  nice  supper  I'll  spread  for  you." 
6 


82  MARY    RICE. 


And  the  tender,  earnest  kiss  which  she  pressed  on 
the  brow  of  the  boy,  rekindled  that  blessed  strength 
which  springs  from  the  certainty  of  being  beloved. 
As  he  turned  from  her,  she  called  playfully  after 
him, 

"  Don't  forget  to  put  up  our  few  sheep  securely 
for  the  night,  from  the  visits  of  your  particular  friends, 
the  wolves.  And  look  you,  come  back  with  a  pleas 
ant  face.  It  mightily  helps  on  the  work  of  the  fam 
ily." 

They  parted  at  the  door  of  a  rude  habitation,  the 
only  one  for  miles.  Its  owner,  Mr.  Jonas  Rice,  a 
man  of  singular  firmness  and  intrepidity,  resided 
here  with  a  large  family  of  children,  of  whom  Mary 
was  the  eldest.  He  was  literally  the  father  of  the 
settlement ;  for,  though  an  attempt  to  plant  it  had 
been  made  nearly  forty  years  before,  the  settlers 
were  soon  dispersed  through  dread  of  the  natives, 
and  the  hardships  of  colonial  life.  After  the  death 
of  King  Philip,  and  the  cessation  of  the  wars  that  he 
sustained,  another  effort  was  instituted,  which  also 
proved  abortive. 

A  small  tenement  had  been  erected  twelve  years 
before,  near  the  site  of  the  present  lonely  dwelling  ; 
but  it  was  soon  destroyed  by  hostile  Indians,  and  its 
inmates  massacred  or  made  captive.  To  Mr.  Rice, 
therefore,  belongs  the  honorary  title  of  the  father  of 
Worcester.  Much  would  it  have  cheered  him,  amid 
toil  and  peril,  might  he  have  caught  a  prophetic  glance 
of  its  present  beauty,  with  its  fair  structures,  its  anti- 


MARY    RICE.  63 


quarian  halls,  its  polished  society,  and  its  flourishing 
schools,  pulsating  in  full  prosperity,  like  a  busy  heart 
in  the  bosom  of  its  rich  territory. 

As  Mary  Rice  entered  their  humble  abode,  a  con 
cord  of  young  voices  greeted  her.  A  flock  of  chil 
dren  were  gathered  round  the  fire,  which  the  chill 
of  an  autumnal  eve  rendered  acceptable.  One  little 
girl  was  bemoaning  a  finger  torn  by  a  thorn.  The 
good  sister  bound  up  the  wound,  and  comforted  her, 
enjoining  upon  all  to  be  quiet,  and  not  disturb  their 
mother,  who,  with  feeble  health,  had  charge  of  a  very 
young  infant.  She  herself  fed,  and  lulled  to  needful 
rest  a  child  of  two  summers,  and  then,  with  elastic 
step  and  skillful  hand,  busied  herself  in  preparations 
for  the  evening  meal. 

The  table  of  rough  boards  was  soon  covered  with 
a  coarse  white  cloth,  in  whose  spinning  and  bleach 
ing  her  industry  had  aided  that  of  the  mother.  The 
light  corn-cakes  and  fresh  butter  were  of  her  own 
making.  Large  clusters  of  the  native  grape,  now 
fully  ripe,  were  added  by  the  care  of  her  young 
brothers..  And  as  she  arranged  the  simple  viands, 
and  poured  out  the  pure  milk,  her  face  was  radiant 
with  that  joy  which  gives  health  to  the  heart ;  a  con 
sciousness  of  making  those  whom  it  loves  comforta 
ble  and  happy. 

The  father  came  home  from  his  work,  and,  raising 
his  hands,  implored  Heaven's  blessing  upon  the 
household  board.  By  his  side  sat  the  meek  and 
cherished  wife,  pale,  but  convalescent ;  and  while  the 


84  MARY    RICE. 


children  partook,  nothing  loath,  of  the  refreshment 
provided,  the  hum  of  their  voices,  reverently  lowered 
in  the  parental  presence,  was  like  the  music  of  a 
bee-hive. 

The  repast  finished,  they  drew  around  the  blazing 
fire.  Young  eyes  turned  spontaneously  to  Mary's 
sweet,  cheerful  face,  as  buds  to  the  sunbeam. 

"  Tell  me  a  story,"  said  one,  "  as  you  do,  when  we 
have  been  good,  about  him  who  slew  the  giant  with  a 
sling,  and  the  smooth  stones  from  the  brook." 

"  And  about  the  gleaner  who  gathered  sheaves  in 
the  field  to  feed  her  poor  mother." 

4'  And  sing  us  some  of  those  sweet  songs  that  you 
sing  when  the  great  wheel  goes  round,  where  you 
spin  the  wool  for  our  stockings,  and  our  warm  win 
ter  clothes." 

"  It  is  time  for  your  own  evening  hymn,  and  to  go 
to  sleep,  my  little  ones,"  said  the  kind  sister,  holding 
the  young  babe  for  them  all  to  kiss,  and  then  placing 
it  tenderly  in  the  father's  arms. 

There  was  a  low,  buzzing  whisper  among  the  chil 
dren,  and  close  approximation  of  heads,  as  if  in  a 
cabinet  council.  At  length  a  chubby  girl,  who  had 
sometimes  been  called  the  favorite  of  her  sire,  taking 
courage  from  that  flattery,  stood  up  close  beside  his 
knee  and  said, 

"  Father !  we  children  want  to  know  what  you 
are  going  to  call  the  baby." 

"  His  name  is  Adonijah,"  was  the  emphatic  reply. 
Then,  still  more  slowly,  as  if  dictating  for  a  family 


MARY    RICE.  $5 


record,  he  repeated,  "  Ad-o-ni-jah  Rice,  born  No 
vember  7th,  1714,  at  Sagatabscot  Hill,  Worcester,  in 
the  Bay  State." 

Whereat  young  eyes  opened  wider,  and  small 
heads  bobbed  up  and  down,  and  here  and  there  a 
lisping  tongue  essayed  the  burden  of  the  mighty 
name.  But  the  youngest  framed  their  lips  in  vain  to 
the  wonderful  cognomen,  and  looked  with  new  pride 
on  each  other,  and  on  the  puny  infant  so  unconscious 
of  its  magnificent  heritage. 

"  That  is  just  the  grandest  name  I  ever  did  hear," 
said  the  child  whose  successful  diplomacy  had  drawn 
it  from  the  paternal  treasure-house. 

"  Father  must  have  read  all  the  books  of  history 
in  the  world,  to  have  it  ready  so,  the  very  minute  he 
is  asked." 

"  Sister  Mary  says  it's  in  the  Bible." 

"  Yes,"  answered  one  of  the  older  childi-en,  "  it  is 
the  name  of  a  man  in  Israel  who  was  crowned  king." 

"I  wonder  if  our  baby  won't  be  a  crowned  king 
when  he  grows  up  V 

"  King,  I  dare  say,  over  the  rattlesnakes  and 
wolves  of  Sagatabscot  Hill,"  murmured  the  queru 
lous  brother. 

Now  came  the  singing  of  their  simple  hymn,  in 
which  every  little  one,  quietly  seated,  and  with  a 
countenance  composed  to  gravity,  mingled  an  up 
lifted  voice.  Then  the  good  sister,  bending  over 
their  pillows,  heard  each  utter  the  prayer  in  which 
the  devotion  of  childhood,  half  slumber  and  half 
H 


86  MARY    RICE. 


trust,  had  wrapped  itself  for  ages.  Perhaps  the 
scenery  of  their  dreams  was  that  night  varied  by  the 
image  of  their  baby  brother,  with  the  unspeakable 
name.  Fancy,  however,  doubtless  failed  in  present 
ing  the  picture  that  time  unfolded — the  first-born  son 
of  Worcester,  in  the  garb,  and  with  the  dauntless 
bearing  of  a  soldier,  jeoparding  his  life  at  the  siege 
of  Louisburg;  or,  amid  the  carnage  of  West  Point, 
solacing  himself,  in  the  interval  of  many  campaigns, 
with  the  comforts  of  his  home  amid  the  Green  Mount 
ains  of  Vermont ;  or,  after  the  independence  of  his 
country  was  secured,  passing  on  within  the  limits  of 
another  century,  and  bearing  on  his  hoary  head  with 
honor  the  weight  of  almost  ninety  winters. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  evenings,  one  of  those  sud 
den  changes  that  mark  the  climate  of  New  England 
brought  a  tempest  of  snow,  wildly  sweeping  over  the 
earth.  The  family  grouped  themselves  around  a  fire 
of  huge  logs,  that  imparted  a  strong  heat  and  ruddy 
flame.  The  father  was  busied  in  examining  for  one 
of  his  sons  some  arithmetical  exercises,  made  with 
a  fragment  of  chalk  upon  a  slab  of  slate-stone.  In 
the  long,  quiet  evenings,  he  pursued  with  the  older 
children  a  system  of  instruction,  which  Mary,  dur 
ing  the  day,  as  household  duties  permitted,  modified 
for  the  younger ;  a  system  which  afterward,  as  pop 
ulation  increased,  he  was  induced  to  carry  out  more 
efficiently,  as  the  first  preceptor  of  the  infant  set 
tlement.  Such  was  the  high  regard  for  education 
among  our  ancestors,  that,  ere  it  was  possible  to  es- 


MARYRICE.  87 


tablish  schools  in  the  wilderness,  the  fireside  was  a 
school,  and  themselves  teachers,  of  the  rudiments  of 
knowledge  and  the  fear  of  God. 

The  little  ones  were  gathered  in  a  circle,  murmur 
ing  in  subdued  tones,  or  listening  to  their  elders. 
Mary  pressed  the  new-born  infant  to  her  bosom  as 
though  it  were  her  own,  ana  the  mother,  who  sat  by 
her  side  plying  the  knitting-needles,  said  tenderly, 

"  Children,  do  you  hear  how  the  storm  rages  1 
When  the  blast  strikes  the  tall  forest  trees,  they  groan 
as  if  in  pain  or  fear.  Shall  we  not  love  the  good  God 
who  shelters  us,  and  spares  our  life  and  health  ]" 

She  had  scarcely  done  .speaking,  when  one  ex 
claimed, 

"  Father  !  do  I  hear  footsteps  around  the  house  ? 
The  dog  pricks  up  his  ears  as  if  he  thought  some 
thing  was  wrong."  r  •;:  ' 

The  fine  large  dog,  who  had  been  carrying  on  his 
back  the  youngest  girl  until  she  grew  weary  of  sport, 
and  then  stretched  himself  before  the  fire  to  sleep, 
was  seen  occasionally  to  start  and  listen  ;  then,  as  if 
satisfied  that  his  vigilance  was  misplaced,  laid  his 
broad  head  upon  the  warm  hearth  again.  Now  he 
sprang  up  growling,  and  rushed  from  corner  to  corn 
er  of  the  room,  with  his  nose  to  the  floor,  as  if  search 
ing  for  some  crevice  in  the  walls,  and  then  made  his 
stand  at  the  door,  barking  violently. 

The  husband,  perceiving  the  faint  color  leave  the 
lips  of  his  invalid  wife,  spoke  of  the  hoarse  echo  of 
the  storm,  and  bade  the  dog  be  still. 


88  MARY    RICE. 


"  But,  father,  father,  I  hear  the  moan  of  a  human 
voice.  Some  one  is  there,  and  in  distress.  Shall  I 
open  the  door?" 

The  thoughtful  colonist  was  not  ignorant  that  the 
Indians  often  counterfeited  the  wail  of  suffering,  as 
well  as  the  howl  of  the  wolf,  when  intent  on  cruelty. 
Anxious  not  prematurely  to  alarm  the  mother,  in 
whose  mind  the  tragedy  once  enacted  on  that  spot 
was  ever  vivid,  he  saw  with  satisfaction  that  his 
gun,  ready  loaded,  was  at  his  hand,  and  that  the  eld 
er  boys  came  resolutely  to  his  side,  grasping  such 
weapons  as  they  had  been  trained  to  wield.  Mary, 
with  a  clear,  calm  brow,  sheltered  the  little  ones, 
who  flew  to  her,  and  threw  one  arm  around  her 
mother,  speaking  in  a  cheering  voice,  words  of  com 
fort. 

"  Sister  Mary  knows  how  to  load  and  fire  as  well 
as  any  body,"  said  a  boy  of  five.  "She  can  take  aim 
too,  for  I've  seen  her  practicing,  and  I'll  help  her, 
and  fight  for  her,  as  long  as  I  live  ;"  breaking  from 
the  circle  of  alarmed  little  ones. 

There  was  a  brief  interval  of  breathless  anxiety. 
Separated  for  miles  from  any  other  habitation,  who 
could  think  of  approaching  their  premises  amid  the 
howling  of  such  a  pitiless  storm,  except  some  savage 
horde  intent  on  massacre  1  Footsteps  were  now  dis 
tinctly  heard,  and  a  voice  which  the  howling  blasts 
made  unintelligible.  Every  hand  except  that  of  in 
fant  weakness  grasped  some  defensive  weapon,  and 
the  feeble  mother,  inspired  with  courage,  rose  up 


MARY    RICE.  8'9 


and  wrapped  her  young  babe  for  flight,  speaking  in 
her  heart  to  the  God  of  strength. 

A  lull  of  the  loud  tempest  made  earnest  words 
audible. 

"  Have  pity  !  Oh,  have  pity  !  My  father  was  mur 
dered  hei-e.  I  have  escaped  from  the  Indians.  I  am 
Thomas  Serjent.  Give  me  shelter,  ere  I  perish." 

The  door  flew  open.  A  youth  partially  clad  in 
Indian  costume,  and  half  enveloped  in  blinding  and 
adhesive  snows,  entered  with  feeble  steps.  A  mo 
mentary  excitement  lighted  up  his  wan  countenance, 
and  "  God  bless  you  !"  trembled  on  his  lips.  Then  he 
sank  exhausted  and  fainting  to  the  floor.  The  alarm 
ed  family  chafed  his  temples  and  rubbed  his  chilled 
limbs,  eagerly  essaying  every  means  of  restoration. 
When  somewhat  revived  and  comforted  by  the 
warmth  of  the  fire,  and  nutriment  cautiously  admin 
istered,  to  which  he  seemed  to  have  been  long  a 
stranger,  but,  more  than  all,  cheered  by  expressions 
of  human  kindness,  his  sad  heart  expanded,  and  he 
would  fain  have  related  his  story,  with  mingled  sobs 
of  gratitude  and  grief. 

But  they  forbade,  and  insisted  on  his  retiring  to 
that  rest  which  he  so  much  needed.  That  night  the 
prayers  of  the  father,  in  the  midst  of  his  kneeling 
dear  ones,  went  up  with  unusual  fervor  to  Him  who 
had  graciously  overruled  their  fears,  and,  instead  of 
the  ruthless  savage,  brought  to  their  humble  dwell 
ing  the  exile  and  the  orphan,  that  they  might  do 
him  good. 

H  2 


90  MARY    RICE. 


The  pale  and  care-worn  face  of  their  guest,  gradu 
ally  assumed  the  hue  of  health  and  happiness.  In 
vited  by  the  master  of  the  habitation  to  remain  as 
one  of  his  own  children,  until  something  better  should 
offer  for  him,  his  gratitude  to  his  benefactor  knew  no 
bounds.  All  labor  and  service  were  counted  joy, 
and  an  added  sense  of  security  in  their  lonely  situa 
tion  was  derived  from  his  presence.  Portions  of 
his  history,  which  from  time  to  time  he  related,  and 
whose  features  of  death  and  sorrow  were  but  too  fa 
miliar  to  the  ears  of  our  early  settlers,  awakened 
among  the  fireside  listeners  strong  emotions  of  sym 
pathy. 

"  It  was  in  such  a  fearful  storm  as  that  from  which 
I  found  shelter  under  your  blessed  roof,  that  the  sav 
ages  attacked  my  father's  habitation.  He  had  been 
warned  of  the  peril  of  dwelling  in  so  solitary  a  spot, 
while  proofs  of  Indian  depredation  and  massacre 
seemed  to  multiply  in  the  land.  But  he  had  become 
attached  to  the  fields  which  he  cultured,  and  his  na 
ture  knew  no  fear.  It  had  become  mid-winter,  and 
the  cold  was  intense.  The  darkness  of  a  tempestu 
ous  night  gathered  around  us  in  the  wilderness,  yet 
the  five  children  sat  happily  with  their  parents  at  the 
fireside,  while  the  wild  snows  fell,  and  the  forest 
shivered  at  the  shrieking  blast. 

"  We  fancied  that  we  heard,  at  first,  sounds  as  of 
the  prowling  wolf.  Then  the  door  was  cleft  by  the 
Indian  tomahawk.  My  father  rushed  forward  with 
his  gun  to  defend  his  family,  and  fell,  covered  with 


M  AR  Y    RICE.  91 


gashes,  a  lifeless  corpse.  They  drove  my  mother 
and  her  children  out  into  the  tempest.  She  folded 
in  her  bosom  the  youngest,  little  Mary,  a  sickly  babe, 
not  two  years  old,  and  began,  at  their  command,  a 
toilsome  march  through  the  drifted  snows.  We  were 
about  to  ascend  a  steep  hill,  when,  oppressed  with 
grief  and  misery,  and  weak  from  ill  health,  she  fell 
in  the  rear  of  the  train.  The  leader  of  the  party 
paused,  and,  not  appearing  to  notice  her,  bent  his 
keen  eye  into  the  depths  of  the  forest,  as  if  descrying 
game,  or  apprehensive  of  pursuit. 

"  Thus  the  whole  file  passed  by,  and  when  the  wea 
ried  woman  came  slowly  on  with  her  deep  heart- 
wail,  and  her  head  bowed  down  upon  the  face  of 
her  little  one,  a  single  stroke  from  his  hatchet  laid 
her  low.  The  affrighted  child  rolled  from  her  arms. 
As  if  something  like  pity  dwelt  in  their  savage  na 
tures,  they  took  up  the  poor  babe,  who  was  creeping 
to  cling  again  to  its  dead  mother,  and  wrapped  it  in 
their  blanket,  and  gave  it  parched  corn,  and  told  it 
not  to  cry.  I  was  permitted  to  lead  by  the  hand  my 
sister  Martha,  a  child  of  four  summers,  while  my  two 
brothers,  eight  and  ten  years  old,  were  forced  on  in 
front.  We  were  separated  ere  we  reached  the  bord 
ers  of  Canada,  and  I  saw  them  no  more.  Whether 
they  all  fell  a  prey  to  the  tomahawk,  or  to  the  linger 
ing  pains  of  Indian  captivity,  or  whether  that  still 
worse  fate  befell  them,  of  adopting  the  hateful  cus 
toms  of  Roman  and  pagan  life,  is  known  only  to  that 
God  who,  through  stern  trials  of  bereavement,  fam- 


92  M  A  R  Y    R  I  C  E. 


ine,  and  misery,  so  mercifully  led  me  to  this  ark  of 
refuge." 

A  burst  of  sorrow  closed  his  narrative.  Yet  at  dif 
ferent  times  resuming  it,  he  depicted  the  hardships 
of  his  own  lot  amid  Canadian  wilds — the  strange 
mixture  of  noble  traits  with  degrading  cruelty,  that 
often  marks  the  character  of  the  aboriginal  Ameri 
can,  and  the  remarkable  providences  that  favored 
him  in  effecting  his  escape,  during  a  nightly  revel, 
when  his  usually  watchful  masters  ventured  from 
their  northern  clime  to  explore  the  interior  of  New 
England,  having  been  lulled  to  security  by  his  appa 
rent  contentment  during  a  captivity  of  twelve  years. 

Reinforced  by  this  youth,  the  industrious  settler, 
with  his  two  eldest  boys,  vigorously  pursued  the  toils 
preparatory  to  winter's  comfort,which  were  facilitated 
by  the  return  of  a  brief  interval  of  mild  weather.  In 
the  house  was  heard  the  clear  voice  of  a  happy  child, 

"  Mary,  sister  Mary,  you  promised  us,  if  we  would 
learn  our  lessons  well  for  a  whole  week,  to  take  a 
walk  with  us,  and  gather  nuts  on  some  fine  day.  Have 
we  not  been  good  ]  See  !  the  snow  is  all  gone,  and 
the  sun  shines  bright  and  warm.  The  squirrels  have 
been  busy  so  long  in  carrying  the  nuts  to  their  hous 
es,  that  we  shall  scarcely  get  our  part." 

"  So  you  wish  to  rob  the  poor  squirrels.  Your 
brothers  have  already  been  beforehand  with  them, 
and  secured  quite  a  hoard.  But  I  surely  gave  you 
such  a  promise,  dear  little  scholars.  And  as  you 
have  kept  your  part  of  the  contract,  I  must  not  fail 


M  A  U  Y    R  t  C  E.  9'3 


in  mine.  If  our  mother  consents,  we  will  go  early 
this  afternoon  with  our  baskets,  a  rare  party  of 
gleaners." 

They  leaped  and  shouted  for  joy.  How  happy  is 
childhood  with  simple  pleasures,  ere  the  tastes  of  ar 
tificial  life  tinge  and  trammel  its  enjoyments.  Au 
tumn,  which  had  been  unusually  changeable,  some 
times  fostering  the  misty,  luxuriant  loveliness  of  the 
Indian  summer,  and  anon  breaking  out  in  the  harsh, 
fitful  caprices  of  winter,  was  now  taking  a  final  fare 
well.  It  moved  mournfully,  like  one  bearing  adver 
sity,  and  musing  upon  lost  wealth.  It  seemed  to  be 
contrasting  the  memory  of  golden  harvests  with  the 
penury  of  naked  trees  and  frost-bound  earth,  while 
the  cold,  blue  streams,  ready  to  become  ice,  mocked 
at  its  broken  sway  and  departed  glory. 

But  no  such  sad  reflections  oppressed  the  merry 
troop  who  bounded  through  the  forest  glade.  Their 
glad  hearts  made  the  drear  landscape  beautiful. 
They  indeed  found  themselves  rather  too  late  for  the 
autumnal  spoil  of  nuts,  yet  occasionally  a  few  were 
discovered,  over  which  they  exceedingly  rejoiced. 

At  length,  the  careful  elder  sister  warned  them  that 
it  was  time  to  return  home.  Just  then  a  strange 
sound  in  the  thicket  alarmed  them,  and  through  tan 
gled  branches  they  saw  two  large,  glaring  eyes  of  a 
panther.  He  at  first  seemed  in  a  quiescent  state, 
but  rising  leisurely,  prepared  to  move  toward  them. 
Mary,  seizing  the  two  youngest  children  by  the 
hand,  and  bidding  the  others  not  to  separate  from 


94  MARY    RICE. 


her,  fled  with  breathless  speed.  The  frightful  crea 
ture  followed,  not  with  rapid  pace,  but  steadfastly ; 
his  feet  patting  among  the  rustling  leaves  and  fallen 
underwood,  and  his  cat-like  breathing  convinced 
them  that  he  was  near.  As  if  sure  of  his  prey,  lie 
glided  quietly  along,  till,  growing  excited  in  the  pur 
suit,  he  gained  upon  them,  and  reaching  a  more  open 
place,  seemed  crouching  for  a  spring.  Mary,  with 
her  flying  group,  turned  a  short  angle  to  a  more 
closely-wooded  path,  illusively  hoping  that  if  the 
leap  were  in  a  right  line,  they  might  thus  avoid  it. 

At  that  moment  was  heard  the  sharp  report  of  a 
rifle.  The  huge  monster  sprang  high  in  air,  uttering 
a  shrill  cry,  and  then,  with  a  deep,  prolonged  growl, 
rolled  and  quivered  in  tides  of  blood. 

A  stately  Indian  emerged  from  the  forest.  The 
dread  of  captivity  gave  new  speed  to  the  fugitives. 
A  commanding  yet  gentle  voice  arrested  their  flight. 

"  Stay !  I  will  not  hurt  a  hair  of  your  heads. 
Poor  tremblers !  Ye  are  taught  to  hate  alike  the 
wild  beast  and  the  Indian.  Look !  Did  not  the  In 
dian  slay  the  fierce  creature  that  would  have  destroy 
ed  you  1  Go  now  in  peace,  and  when  you  reach 
your  home,  say  that  the  outcast  Indian  saved  you." 

Tears  of  gratitude  flowed  over  the  face  of  the 
young  girl.  Yet  strange  awe  enchained  her  tongue, 
so  that  she  could  scarcely  articulate  "  Thanks  ! 
thanks !" 

Rushing  feet  approached.  The  sound  of  the  rifle 
spread  alarm,  and  Jonas  Rice,  with  all  the  efficient 


MARY    RICE. 


members  of  liis  family,  flew  in  arms  to  the  spot.  A 
little  girl  hasted  to  meet  them. 

"  Oh  father !  father !  he  saved  our  lives.  He 
killed  the  dreadful  beast.  He,  the  good  red  In 
dian." 

What  painter  could  have  sketched  that  group  on 
the  verge  of  the  forest.  In  the  center,  the  excited  fa 
ther,  his  vengeful  purpose  suddenly  checked,  clasp 
ing  the  little  daughter  who  had  borne  the  embassy 
of  peace,  like  the  dove  with  the  olive  leaf,  over  the 
heaving  deluge  ;  by  his  side,  his  two  sons,  gazing 
on  the  monster,  still  writhing  in  its  death-gasp ;  and 
the  rescued  youth  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand, 
as  if  forbidden  by  innate  hatred  to  look  upon  an 
Indian  except  as  a  foe. 

Opposite  was  the  red  man,  erect  and  lofty,  his 
temples  sprinkled  with  gray.  Mary  stood  near  him, 
pale  as  marble,  yet  more  beautiful  than  ever,  with 
holy  emotions ;  two  fair  children  clung  to  her  side, 
and  a  little  one  of  three  summers,  hid  its  sweet  face 
in  her  garments. 

The  stately  chieftain,  resting  on  his  rifle,  spoke  as 
one  in  sadness,  yet. with  a  firm  tone. 

"  White  man,  these  forest  lands  were  my  fathers'. 
I  roam  here  this  day,  a  stranger  and  alone,  yet  not 
unarmed.  Since  thy  people  came  among  us,  we 
have  need  of  such  weapons.  With  mine  have  I 
saved  the  lambs  of  thy  flock.  Take  them  back  to 
thy  fold,  and  when  ye  too  much  hate  the  poor  In 
dian,  remember  that  he  slew  them  not." 


00  MARY    RICE. 


Tears  glistened  in  the  eyes  of  the  father.  He 
stretched  out  his  hand  :  "  Come,  come  to  my  house, 
that  we  may  bless  you  there." 

"  Sagamore  John  enters  not  the  cabin  of  any  white 
man.  The  ghosts  of  his  fathers  murmur  at  midnight 
that  he  is  the  enemy  of  their  race.  This  hand  hath 
shed  their  blood;  yes,  the  blood  of  fighting  men. 
But  that  of  the  woman  and  the  babe  hath  not  stained 
my  garments. 

"  Sagamore  John  is  old.  His  head  used  to  tower 
among  the  warriors,  like  Wachusett  above  the  hills. 
Now  the  snows  that  settle  upon  it  melt  not  away 
when  spring  returneth.  The  blood  that  used  to  burn 
in  his  breast  at  the  sight  of  thy  fighting  men  is  like 
the  brook  that  the  frost  overtaketh.  What  have  I 
to  hope  or  to  fear  any  more  from  man  ? 

"  Go  now,  if  thou  wilt,  to  thy  governor,  and  de 
nounce  me.  I  read  hatred  in  the  eye  of  one  nearest 
to  thy  side.  Drag  me,  if  thou  canst,  before  thy  courts. 
At  their  word  have  my  people  been  shot  down  like 
dogs,  with  none  to  bury  them.  I,  too,  have  been  in 
their  prisons.  I  know  the  mercies  of  white  men. 
But  my  soul  defieth  their  power.  Brave,  and  with 
out  shame,  shall  it  go  to  the  shades  of  its  fathers." 

And  he  drew  himself  up  haughtily  to  his  full 
height,  while  his  brow  enkindled  with  a  chieftain's 
pride.  Mary  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  said, 

"We  bless  you;  we  will  pray  for  you  to  our  God." 

His  fiery  eye  grew  calm,  and  assumed  its  native 
coldness. 


MARY    RICE.  97 


"  Thy  soul  is  beautiful,  though  thou  art  of  that 
pale  race  whose  hearts  are  hollow  and  cold.  Know- 
est  thou  that  I  have  seen  the  teacher  Eliot,  that  old, 
good  man  ]  He  hated  not  the  poor  Indian.  He 
came  to  my  cabin.  The  best  of  my  food  I  set  be 
fore  him.  He  slept  upon  my  own  bed  of  skins.  I 
could  not  have  harmed  him  any  more  than  the  moth 
er  who  nourished  me. 

"  I  was  then  young,  and  the  blood  in  my  heart  was 
high  ;  but  I  bowed  down  when  he  prayed.  He  told 
us  of  a  Great  Spirit  whose  name  was  love.  He  said 
it  was  written  in  His  Book  that  men  should  do  good 
to  their  enemies.  Thy  God  is  not  my  God,  yet  I 
remembered  His  words.  They  fell  from  the  lips  of 
that  old,  meek  prophet  like  music. 

"  Now  I  go  back  to  my  woods,  to  be  hunted  like  a 
beast  of  prey.  But  my  heart  will  be  lighter  in  my 
bosom  when  death  cometh,  that  I  have  saved  the 
poor  innocents." 

He  disappeared  in  the  recesses  of  the  forest,  and 
they  returned  to  their  dwelling.  Henceforth  their 
history  was  unmarked  save  by  those  events  that 
checker  the  course  of  an  advancing  colony,  which  in 
about  four  years  numbered  two  hundred  settlers, 
and  more  than  fifty  habitations. 

Mr.  Gershom  Rice,  the  brother  of  its  bold  pioneer, 
was  the  first  to  plant  a  family  by  his  side.  He  has 
also  the  honor  of  being  the  first  to  open  his  house  for 
the  social  worship  of  God,  and  the  first  to  call  forth 
from  the  half  unbroken  wild  the  blossoming  boughs 
7  I 


98  M  A  R  Y    n  I  C  E. 


of  a  fair  fruit- orchard.  The  benefit  of  his  labors  and 
example  was  protracted  to  extreme  longevity.  In 
the  words  of  the  Swedish  poet, 

"There  flow'd  behind  that  old  man's  ears 
The  silver  of  a  hundred  years." 

The  ancestor  of  Worcester  also  lived  to  a  good 
old  age,  until  he  saw  the  slender  branch  of  his  plant 
ing,  ingrafted  on  the  stock  of  a  broad-shadowing  and 
independent  nation.  Mary,  our  heroine,  carried  into 
her  own  home  the  virtues  which  had  rendered  that 
of  her  father  so  happy  ;  for  whoever  is  faithful  in  the 
duties  and  affections  of  a  daughter  and  elder  sister, 
has  given  hostages  not  to  fail  in  those  of  a  wife  or 
mother. 

In  those  early  days,  when  a  man's  house  was  lit 
erally  his  castle,  and  his  means  of  defence  within  his 
own  domestic  circle,  the  gentler  sex  partook  of  his 
heroic  spirit.  The  languor  of  delicate  nerves  then 
constituted  no  attraction.  The  dangers  that  sur 
rounded  woman,  awakened  no  morbid  apprehension, 
but  girded  her  with  new  strength  to  act,  to  suffer,  or 
to  solace.  She  vindicated  her  title  to  the  name  by 
which  she  was  first  introduced  to  her  partner  in 
Eden,  "  a  help-meet  for  him." 

The  simple  life  of  our  early  settlers,  though  re 
plete  with  hardship,  was  favorable  to  the  growth  of 
domestic  virtues.  Like  a  rough  and  thorny  sheath, 
it  guarded  well  the  hidden  kernel.  The  philosophy 
of  moderated  desires,  which  in  our  own  times  is  too 
oft  an  unlearned  or  a  despised  lesson,  was  the  birth- 


M  A  R  Y    R  I  C  E.  99 


right  of  our  ancestors.  Courage  was  kept  in  exer 
cise.  Industry  had  no  time  to  slumber.  Faith  sprang 
upward  to  a  stronger  life. 

These  habitudes  wrought  visibly  on  the  nature  of 
woman.  Lofty  rooms,  and  luxurious  carpets,  and 
the  attendance  of  many  servants,  were  not  essential 
to  her  happiness.  So  that  her  heart  was  right  and 
her  hands  busy,  health  was  wont  to  invigorate  her 
frame,  and  her  brow  to  be  tinged  with  the  beauty  of 
the  affections.  Wealth  and  fashion,  which  often  fos 
ter  but  the  weeds  of  our  nature,  had  no  chance  to 
sow  for  her,  seeds  of  self-indulgence  and  vanity.  The 
temptations  of  artificial  life  were  not  there  to  lead 
her  away  from  the  plain  intent  of  her  Maker,  until 
she  became  no  longer  a  helper  to  her  husband  or  a 
true  mother  to  her  children. 

Not  by  indolence  or  extravagance  did  she  place 
obstacles  in  the  way  of  matrimony,  thus  driving  to 
disappointment  or  vice  those  to  whom  she  might  have 
been  as  a  ministering  angel.  Why  is  it  not  so  still 
in  every  part  of  our  Republic  1  Why  should  she 
ever  choose  to  be  as  a  bubble  on  the  foam  of  life,  or 
a  burden  to  sink  her  companion  deeper  in  troubled 
waters  1  Rather  let  her  firmly  bear  with  him  its 
storms,  and  redouble  its  sunbeams  by  reflecting  them 
from  the  mirror  of  a  cloudless  spirit,  until,  "  time's 
brief  voyage  past,"  they  enter  the  haven  of  eternal 
life. 


FALL   OF  THE   PEQUOD. 


"  We,  the  rightful  lords  of  yore, 
Are  the  rightful  lords  no  more  ; 
Like  the  silver  inist  we  fail, 
Like  the  red  leaves  in  the  gale, 
Fail  like  shadows  when  the  dawning, 
Waves  the  bright  flag  of  the  morning." 

M'LELLAN. 


FALL    OF    THE    PEQUOD. 


THE  infancy  of  Connecticut  was  replete  witli  peril. 
The  dangers  that  surrounded  its  cradle,  seem  suffi 
cient  to  have  extinguished  any  common  germ  of  co 
lonial  existence. 

The  pilgrim-fathers  at  Plymouth  possessed  some 
advantages  over  the  other  settlers  of  New  England. 
They  held  the  right  of  primogeniture,  a  prescriptive 
claim  to  the  regard  of  posterity.  They  came  first  to 
its  solitary  shores.  They  first  breathed  amid  its  un 
broken  forests  the  name  of  Jehovah.  Their  foot 
steps  have  been  traced  with  somewhat  of  that  enthu 
siasm  which  hovers  like  the  white-wing'd  sea-bird 
around  the  voyage  of  Columbus,  the  world-finder. 
There  was  a  severe,  yet  simple,  majesty  in  their  at 
titude,  which  history  has  preserved  and  mankind 
venerated.  Their  privations  have  been  recorded  and 
remembered.  If  they  have  not  Monopolized  our  sym 
pathies,  they  have  put  in  a  prior  claim  to  them.  They 
have  made  the  Rock  of  Plymouth  a  Mecca  to  the 
patriot,  and  it  is  right  that  it  should  be  so. 

Still  it  is  questionable  whether  their  sufferings  sur 
passed  those  of  the  little  band  who,  in  the  year  1635, 
took  leave  of  their  friends  in  the  Massachusetts,  and 
came  as  pioneers  to  the  banks  of  the  Connecticut.  A 


FALL    OF    THE    P  E  U  U  O  D. 


trackless  wilderness  lay  before  them.  The  compass 
and  the  stars  of  heaven  were  their  guides.  Mount 
ains,  and  thickets,  and  morasses,  and  unfordable 
streams  were  among  the  obstacles  of  their  path. 
The  shortening  days  of  autumn  interrupted  their 
progress ;  and  for  the  chill  and  dreary  nights  their 
shelter  was  the  forest,  and  the  earth  their  bed. 

Among  the  sharers  in  this  adventurous  enterprise 
were  delicate  women,  inured  to  affluence  in  the  soft 
British  clime,  and  young  infants,  who  must  have  per 
ished  had  it  been  possible  for  the  heart  of  the  mother 
ever  to  grow  cold.  The  season  was  inauspicious, 
and  marked  by  violent  storms.  So  protracted  had 
been  their  journey,  that,  ere  they  could  make  prep 
arations  for  safety  and  comfort,  Winter,  coming  be 
fore  his  time,  surprised  them.  Connecticut  River, 
so  long  the  object  of  their  hope,  presented,  on  their 
arrival,  a  broad  surface  of  ice.  It  is  recorded  as  al 
most  an  unparalleled  circumstance,  that  it  was  that 
year  frozen  entirely  over  on  the  15th  of  November. 

There  was  no  welcome  from  Nature  to  the  toil- 
worn  strangers.  The  trees  were  leafless  and  silent. 
The  birds  had  migrated,  and  the  provident  animals 
hidden  themselves  from  the  cold.  The  snow  came 
deep  and  drifted,  and  wild  winds  swept  through  their 
insufficient  habitations.  To  crown  all,  the  vessels 
which  contained  their  provisions  and  articles  for 
household  comfort,  were  wrecked  in  a  tempest ;  so 
that  the  sufferings  of  famine  were  added  to  their  list 
of  hardships. 


FALL    OF    THE    PEdUOD.  105 

The  red  men  of  the  forest,  then  numerous  and 
powerful,  looked  with  pity  on  the  pale,  perishing 
race.  They  saw  them  feeding  upon  acorns,  and 
brought  them  corn,  and  covered  them  with  the  skins 
of  the  beaver  from  the-  terrible  cold.  They  discov 
ered,  and  lent  them  aid  in  their  perils  through  the 
wilderness.  Taking  the  sick  and  feeble  in  their 
arms,  they  bare  them  through  morasses  and  rivu 
lets.  "  They  did  make  of  their  bodies  bridges  and 
boats  unto  our  people,"  said  a  historian  of  the  early 
times. 

But  where  now  are  the  vestiges  of  that  race  whose 
friendship  preserved  our  ancestors  1  They  who,  to 
the  number  of  20,000,  spread  themselves  by  the  fair 
streams  and  along  the  sea-coast  of  Connecticut,  wlierc 
arc  they  ?  Is  a  single  one  of  their  arbor-like  dwell 
ings  to  be  found  1  Does  a  solitary  canoe  break  the 
surface  of  any  of  our  streams  ]  And  who  among  us 
remember  the  race  who  gave  bread  to  our  perish 
ing  fathers,  or  repay  the  deed  of  gratitude  to  their 
wandering  and  degraded  children  ? 

The  clergymen  Hooker  and  Stone,  who,  with  their 
congregations,  traversed,  in  1637,  the  same  interven 
ing  wilderness,  to  commence  the  settlement  of  Hart 
ford,  wisely  chose  summer  as  the  season  of  their  ex 
pedition. 

Hooker,  to  whose  learning  and  eloquence  the  no 
ble  and  the  pious  in  his  own  native  land  had  borne 
high  testimony,  took  part  in  every  hardship  with  the 
most  cheerful  courage.  Sometimes  bowing  his  shoul- 


106  FALL    OF    THE    PEdUOD. 


der  to  the  litter  in  which  his  sickly  wife  was  carried ; 
then  raising  in  his  arms  some  child  of  the  party  whose 
little  weary  feet  lingered  behind ;  then  comforting 
the  faint-hearted ;  and  again,  with  inspiring  smile, 
recounting  the  joy  of  Israel,  drawing  near  the  prom 
ised  land,  until  his  flock  fancied  that  in  their  own 
path  was  the  same  guiding  "pillar  of  cloud  by  day, 
and  of  fire  by  night." 

A  fortnight  was  spent  in  their  journey,  and,  like 
their  predecessors,  they  slept  without  shelter.  Yet 
faith,  continually  sustained  by  the  zeal  and  patience 
of  their  guides,  communicated  vigor  to  their  bodies, 
and  they  endured  without  murmuring.  The  forests 
through  which  they  passed,  and  whose  echoes  had 
hitherto  replied  only  to  the  wolf,  or  the  panther,  or 
the  hunter's  cry,  became  familiar  with  other  sounds. 
For,  as  the  Christians  proceeded, 

"  They  shook  the  depths  of  the  forest  gloom 
With  their  hymns  of  lofty  cheer.'' 

Not  a  year  had  transpired  since  their  choice  of  a 
locality  on  the  banks  of  the  beautiful  river  which  was 
to  give  name  to  a  state.  May  morning  smiled  on 
them  for  the  first  time  in  their  new  abode.  Rich 
verdure  quickened  beneath  their  feet,  and  Nature 
seemed  anxious  to  efface  the  memory  of  winter's 
unkindness.  But  deep  care  was  on  the  brow  of  those 
who  watched  over  the  welfare  of  the  young  colony. 
The  fathers  of  Connecticut  met  on  that  first  day  of 
May  in  solemn  council.  A  delegation  from  the  sen 
ior  settlements  of  Windsor,  and  Wethersfield,  were 


FALL    OF    THE    PEaUOD.  107 

convened  with  the  magistrates  of  Hartford,  on  affairs 
of  high  import. 

The  Pequods,  a  fierce  and  powerful  tribe  of  na 
tives,  had  discovered  a  spirit  of  aggression.  Inroads 
upon  property  and  destruction  of  life  were  charged 
against  them.  The  expediency  of  a  war  was  imme 
diately  decided  upon,  the  number  of  soldiers  deter 
mined,  and  preparations  commenced  without  delay. 
To  meet  these  requisitions,  every  family  drew  upon 
the  resources  of  its  strength,  or  put  in  jeopardy  the 
springs  of  its  existence. 

It  was  on  Wednesday,  the  tenth  of  May,  that  nine 
ty  soldiers,  with  military  equipments,  stood  on  the 
banks  of  the  broad  river.  True  and  faithful  to  their 
need,  their  red-browed  allies  were  ranged  by  their 
side. 

The  Mohegan  king,  with  seventy  warriors,  waited 
the  signal  of  his  pilgrim  friends. 

It  was  an  hour  of  stirring  emotion.  None  spoke 
or  moved.  It  was  felt  that  but  one  man  could  break 
that  silence,  and  that  his  words  must  be  to  God. 
Hooker  came  forward.  At  his  right  hand  were  his 
brethren,  his  flock,  who  had  crossed  with  him  a  tem 
pestuous  ocean,  exiles  from  the  land  of  their  fathers. 
Which  of  these  should  return  no  more  1  Who  should 
fall  in  blood,  and  see  his  home  no  more?  Mingled 
with  these  was  a  more  helpless  group  :  the  wife,  the 
mother,  the  sister,  and  the  babe.  They  had  come 
down  to  the  waters  to  bid  farewell. 

The  holy  man  felt  that  he  "  bare  their  griefs  and 


108  FALL    OF    THE    PEaUOD. 

carried  their  sorrows,"  as  he  came  forth  into  the 
midst.  His  prayer  was  to  the  God  of  battles,  the 
"God  of  the  spirits  of  all  flesh;"  and  it  lifted  up  the 
souls  of  those  who  were  to  go,  and  of  those  who  re 
mained  behind,  till  there  seemed  to  them  neither 
danger  nor  sorrow  in  this  brief  world  worthy  to  ap 
pall  the  heirs  of  immortality. 

The  voice  of  supplication  ceased.  There  was  a 
brief  pause.  Then,  stretching  forth  his  arms,  he 
blessed  the  people  in  the  name  of  the  God  of  the 
armies  of  Israel.  In  that  high  faith  they  parted. 
Tender  ones  restrained  the  tear,  lest  it  might  weak 
en  the  heart  of  some  loved  protector.  Children  imi 
tated  the  dignity  of  their  parents. 

The  barques  received  their  freight ;  the  sails  were 
unfurled.  One  man  lingered  yet  a  moment  behind 
the  rest.  It  was  the  Rev.  Mr.  Stone,  the  chaplain 
of  the  expedition.  He  stayed  to  press  the  hand  of 
his  colleague  in  the  Church,  and  his  friend  in  the 
Gospel. 

"  Go  forth,"  said  Hooker,  "  blessed  and  holy  broth 
er,  bearing  the  armor  of  the  Gospel.  When  the  wa 
ters  of  strife  abate,  give  heed  to  pluck  the  first  leaf 
of  olive,  for  so  it  becometh  a  servant  of  the  Prince  of 
peace." 

The  little  fleet  moved  slowly  and  gracefully  from 
the  shore.  The  fair  river  sparkled  in  the  sunbeam, 
and  gave  back  the  tint  of  the  deep  blue  sky.  The 
foliage  upon  its  banks  was  of  surpassing  beauty. 
The  towering  oak  lifted  its  unshorn  head,  and  the 


FALLOFTHEPEQUOD.  109 

elm  spread  its  umbrageous  arms  in  rival  majesty. 
Amid  the  interstices  of  the  forest,  the  sassafras  and 
dog-wood  thrust  forth  their  pale  flowers,  the  wild 
cherry  hung  out  its  feathery  banner,  and  the  fragrant 
breath  of  the  indigenous  apple  blossom  was  detected 
in  every  breeze.  Animal  life,  in  its  unresting  forms 
of  pursuit  or  enjoyment,  roved  amid  the  luxuriant 
vegetation.  The  squirrel  threw  itself  from  bough  to 
bough,  as  if  ambitious  to  belong  to  the  winged  ten 
antry  ;  the  fox  ventured  fearlessly  from  his  covert ; 
and  the  otter,  from  some  sloping  declivity,  plunged 
suddenly  into  the  deep  waters,  or,  fearlessly  emerg 
ing,  resumed  his  amphibious  pastime.  The  thrush 
poured  forth  from  her  newly-built  habitation  wild 
strains  of  the  richest  melody ;  the  azure  plumage  of 
the  jay  gleamed  in  strong  contrast  with  the  garb  of 
the  black-bird,  whose  keen  eye  was  ever  searching 
for  some  planted  maize-field ;  the  partridge  rose  up 
heavily  on  whirring  wing;  the  shy  quail  sent  forth  her 
clear,  shrill  whistle ;  and  throngs  of  pigeons  darkened 
the  bending  branches. 

"  This  is  truly  a  land,"  said  Mason,  the  command 
er  of  the  troops,  "  for  which  a  warrior  might  be  will 
ing  to  fight." 

"  God  hath  given  us  a  goodly  heritage,"  replied 
the  chaplain.  "  Would  it  were  his  will  that  we  might 
keep  it  for  our  sons,  without  this  shedding  of  blood." 

And  there  they  stood  together  on  the  prow  of  the 
leading  vessel ;  the  bold,  strong  man  who  had  made 
war  his  trade  when  the  banner  of  England  was  borne 
K 


110  FALLOFTHEPEQUOD. 

high  in  the  battles  of  the  Netherlands,  and  the  meek, 
unswerving  servant  of  the  cross,  who  deemed  war 
among  the  heaviest  judgments  of  the  Almighty.  Not 
inaptly  did  they  personify  their  different  professions, 
like  Gerizzim  and  Ebal,  amid  the  mountains  of  Is 
rael,  uttering  the  blessings  or  the  penal  thunders  of 
Jehovah. 

As  twilight  drew  her  curtain,  the  banks  between 
which  they  glided,  became  more  bold  and  steep. 
Rocks  reared  castellated  summits,  till  their  frowning 
shadows  mingled  on  the  bosom  of  the  river,  which 
became  compressed,  and  flowed  on  complainingly, 
like  an  unsubdued  spirit,  chastened  by  adversity.  It 
seemed  faintly  to  imitate  the  majesty  with  which  the 
more  imposing  Hudson  \vins  the  pass  of  the  High 
lands  ;  and  then  expanding  in  freedom  and  beauty, 
embellished  the  romantic  scenery  where  Middletown 
was  to  choose  her  seat. 

Yet  the  Connecticut  gave  but  a  tardy  passage  to 
her  first  naval  armament.  On  the  third  day  of  the 
voyage,  the  Indian  king  demanded  to  be  put  on 
board  the  vessel  of  the  commander. 

"  Chief  of  the  white  men,  my  warriors  are  not 
content.  They  say  your  tall,  white- winged  birds 
tread  not  the  waters  like  their  own  light  canoes. 
They  see  the  salmon  leap  up,  and  there  is  none  to 
take  it.  They  see  the  horns  of  the  deer  glancing 
through  the  forest,  and  their  bows  are  hot  in  their 
hands." 

"  The  waters  and  the  winds  are  in  the  hands  of 


FALL    OF    THE     P  E  a  U  O  D. 


Ill 


the  Great  Spirit,"  replied  Mason.  "  They  obey  him, 
and  not  us.  King  of  the  red  men,  what  shall  be  done 
to  satisfy  your  people  ]" 

"  Put  our  feet  upon  the  green  earth.  Let  these 
great  water-birds  go  on  without  us.  We  will  meet 
you  at  your  fort,  where  the  river  weds  the  sea." 

The  Indians,  according  to  their  request,  were  set 
on  shore.  They  were  seen  pressing  through  the 
closest  thickets,  and  ascending  the  steepest  rocks  with 
fleet  foot  and  unbending  form.  In  a  few  minutes 
they  disappeared  amid  the  deep  green  of  the  forest. 
But  their  shouts  of  wild  delight  were  longer  heard, 
as  they  traversed  their  native  soil,  inhaling,  with  free 
spirit,  the  pure,  elastic  atmosphere. 

Five  days  these  three  vessels  toiled  on  their  tedious 
voyage.  Unskilled  in  the  navigation  of  the  river, 
the  mariners  repeatedly  ran  aground,  or  laboriously 
ploughed  their  way  in  the  teeth  of  opposing  winds. 
Before  their  eyes  was  no  vision  of  that  stupendous 
power  which  was  yet  to  arise,  binding  both  blasts 
and  billows  in  strange  obedience.  The  plodding  and 
patient  people  of  that  age  were  cheered  by  no  pa 
geant  of  steam-propelled  palace,  instinct  as  with  a 
living  soul,  and  treading  down  in  the  pride  of  its  own 
strength  all  elemental  opposition.  They  would  not 
have  believed,  that  on  the  very  tide  they  buffeted  so 
wearily,  an  agent  should  come  forth,  resistless  as  the 
planet  in  its  orb,  yet  fashioned  by  the  weakness  of 
human  hands.  They  would  have  marveled  at  the 
assertion  that  the  mightiest  effort  of  man,  since  he 


112  FALL    OF    THE    P  E  Q  U  O  D. 

became  lord  of  this  lower  world,  was  not  to  rear  the 
wall  of  China,  or  to  erect  the  Cathedral  at  Rome, 
but  to  render  the  potent  and  tremendous  power  of 
steam  the  vassal  of  his  will,  to  "  play  with  him  as 
with  a- bird,  and  to  bind  him  for  his  maidens." 

The  arrival  of  the  fleet  at  the  fort  of  Saybrook  was 
an  occurrence  of  no  slight  moment.  The  tossing 
pinnaces  were  moored,  and  the  junction  of  the  slen 
der  marine  and  land  forces  effected,  where  the  Con 
necticut,  with  her  dower  of  mountain-rills  and  quiet 
streamlets,  meets  her  imperious  lord,  and  loses  her 
sky-born  tint  in  his  fathomless  wave. 

The  welcome  of  Captain  Underbill,  with  his  garri 
son  of  twenty  men,  notwithstanding  the  simplicity  of 
the  times,  was  not  wholly  devoid  of  "  pomp  and  cir 
cumstance."  A  broad  banner  floated,  and  a  rude 
flourish  of  maitial  music  sounded  from  the  shore  as 
the  troops  disembarked  ;  and  the  two  commanders 
tendered  each  other  the  salutes  which  military  cour- 
tosy  prescribes. 

"  We  can  spread  for  you  no  field  of  the  cloth  of 
gold,"  said  Underbill,  "  nor  even  bid  you  to  a  palace, 
notwithstanding  we  chance  to  be  the  highest  repre 
sentatives  of  England's  sovereign  majesty  in  this 
corner  of  the  New  World." 

"  Yet  our  meeting,"  replied  Mason,  "  involves 
higher  consequences  than  the  boasted  interview  of 
Henry  VIII.  and  Francis  I.  No  point  of  kiogly 
etiquette  is  here  to  be  settled,  but  the  life  or  death 
of  a  nation.  Here,  too,  are  truer  friends  than  are 


FALLOFTHEPEQUOD.  113 

wont  to  wait  upon  royalty,"  pointing  to  the  Me/began 
allies,  and  cordially  taking  the  hand  of  Uncas. 

"  Indian  friendship),"  said  the  chaplain,  "shows  it 
self  by  deeds  more  than  words.  It  does  not  think 
first  of  its  own  safety,  or  stop  to  calculate  expediency, 
when  its  object  is  in  danger." 

The  hospitality  of  the  fort  was  as  ample  as  the  re 
sources  which  could  be  commanded  in  a  primitive 
state  of  society.  The  game  furnished  by  the  Mohe- 
gan  hunters  at  their  arrival  was  an  important  and 
acceptable  addition.  In  that  stage  of  the  colony 
hospitality  was  not,  like  the  careful  sister  of  Betha 
ny,  "  cumbered  with  much  serving."  Her  aim  was 
not  to  consult  variety,  or  to  indulge  cost,  or  to  dis 
play  competition,  but  simply  to  satisfy  appetite.  The 
climax  of  her  ambition  was  to  hear  her  guest  say,  it 
is  enough. 

During  detention  by  a  storm,  the  leaders  con 
versed  freely  on  the  plan  of  their  projected  expe 
dition. 

"  The  instructions  of  the  court,"  said  Mason,  "  are 
precise,  to  land  at  Pequod  harbor  and  proceed  direct 
ly  to  their  fort.  But  the  moment  our  sails  are  dis 
cerned  we  shall  be  watched  with  Indian  vigilance,  and 
the  attempt  to  disembark  may  cost  the  lives  of  half 
our  men.  Even  should  a  landing  be  safely  effected, 
we  may  be  entrapped  in  some  ambuscade,  ignorant 
as  we  are  of  their  country ;  so  that  it  is  possible  for 
us  to  fall  without  a  battle,  leaving  none  to  bear  tidings 
of  our  fate.  My  advice  is,  therefore,  to  come  upon 
8  K  2 


114  FALLOFTHEPEQUOD. 

them  unawares,  through  the  Narragansett  country, 
and  attack  them  by  surprise." 

"  I  am  averse,"  said  Underbill,  "  to  a  departure 
from  the  injunctions  of  the  honorable  court.  Neither 
do  I  like  that  resort  to  stratagem  which  we  blame 
so  much  in  the  Indians.  Our  men  would  dread  a 
march  through  the  wilderness.  By  detaining  them 
longer  from  their  homes,  the  agriculture  on  which 
their  subsistence  depends  must  be  impeded.  Who 
can  say,  also,  that  their  families,  by  this  protract 
ed  absence,  may  not  be  exposed  to  savage  mas 
sacre  1" 

"  Delay,"  said  Mason,  "  is  a  lighter  evil  than  ex 
termination.  You  will  not,  I  trust,  doubt  my  cour 
age  ;  yet  prudence  is  an  essential  ingredient  of  a 
well-balanced  courage.  With  all  our  devotion  to 
our  country,  we  are  not  a  match  for  twenty  times 
our  number.  By  passing  through  the  territory  of 
the  king  of  the  Narragansetts,  we  may  obtain  his 
aid.  Uncas,  what  is  your  counsel  in  this  matter?" 

The  red-browed  chieftain  had  been  a  silent,  but 
deeply  attentive  listener.  Now,  though  summoned 
to  give  his  opinion,  he  answered  reluctantly. 

"  Miantonimoh  looks  one  way  and  rows  anoth 
er." 

"  What  does  he  mean  ]"  said  Mason. 

"  That  the  Narragansett  king  is  double-minded, 
and  not  to  be  trusted,"  replied  Underbill. 

"  Uncas  has  somewhat  of  the  wily  policy  of  Ulys 
ses,"  said  Mason.  "  He  fears  to  commit  himself. 


F  A  L  L    O  F    T  H  E    P  E  Q,  U  O  D.  115 

In  this  case,  he  has  probably  some  personal  pique. 
His  suffrage  goes  for  nothing." 

Neither  commander  was  disposed  to  recede  from 
his  ground.  Their  officers  were  also  divided  in  opin 
ion.  In  this  dilemma,  they  agreed  to  submit  to  the 
decision  of  the  chaplain.  In  those  days,  veneration 
for  the  sacerdotal  character  was  exemplified  by  men 
of  the  highest  rank,  and  an  essential  element  of  edu 
cation.  The  chaplain,  fully  aware  of  the  importance 
of  this  arbitration,  would,  perhaps,  willingly  have 
avoided  its  responsibility.  But  his  creed  taught  him 
not  to  shrink  from  duty.  That  night  no  slumber  vis 
ited  his  eyes.  In  deep  solitude  he  viewed  the  con 
tested  point  in  all  its  bearings.  He  weighed  every 
argument  that  had  been  adduced.  He  pondered  their 
probable  results.  He  spread  the  cause  before  Him 
who  heareth  prayer,  and  implored  the  guidance  of 
his  wisdom. 

With  the  early  light  of  morning,  he  communicated 
to  the  council  his  opinion  in  favor  of  the  route 
through  the  Narragansett  country.  That  day  the 
Captains  Mason  and  Underbill  sailed  with  their 
forces  for  Narragansett  Bay.  leaving  twenty  men  be 
hind  for  the  defence  of  the  colony.  On  Saturday, 
May  20th,  they  landed,  and  marched  to  the  planta 
tion  of  the  sachem,  Canonicus.  From  thence  they 
sent  an  embassy  to  Miantonimoh,  asking  permission 
to  pass  through  his  territory,  and  soliciting  his  aid 
against  the  common  enemy.  He  came  to  meet  them 
with  a  large  body  of  warriors.  He  was  tall,  slightly 


116  FALLOFTHEPEQUOD. 

made,  and  of  a  less  commanding  presence  than  the 
Mohegan  king.  The  plan  of  thus  assaulting  the  Pe- 
quods  surprised  him  by  its  boldness.  Still  he  main 
tained  that  unmoved  manner  and  countenance,  be 
neath  which  the  pride  of  the  Indian  is  accustomed  to 
conceal  emotion.  He  received  the  confidence  of 
the  colonial  commanders  in  silence,  and  requested 
an  interview  with  Uncas. 

"  Does  Mohegan  go  with  the  pale  faces  T'  was  his 
first  question. 

"  The  chain  of  our  friendship  is  bright,"  replied 
Uncas.  "  One  end  of  it  is  in  the  hand  of  the  Great 
Spirit,  and  the  other  in  the  grave  of  my  nation.  Un 
til  it  sleeps  there,  the  chain  must  not  rust  or  be  bro 
ken." 

"  Sassacus  can  bring  as  many  arrows  as  the  spring 
puts  forth  green  leaves  in  the  forest." 

"  We  shall  steal  upon  Sassacus  as  the  snake  winds 
through  the  sleeping  grass.  He  shall  see  blood  ere 
he  knows  what  hand  hath  drawn  it." 

"Sassacus  hath  a  quick  ear  and  a  long  arm. 
Twenty-six  chiefs  obey  him.  Whom  he  will,  he 
slayeth.  He  is  among  them  as  a  god."  And  a 
gleam  of  superstitious  awe  passed  over  the  brow  of 
Narragansett's  king  at  the  thought  of  that  fierce  mon 
arch,  who  struck  terror  into  every  foe. 

"  Miantonimoh,  go  with  us !  You  are  a  brave 
man.  If  we  can  shake  the  Pequods  from  their  strong 
holds,  you  may  sit  down  upon  the  sea-coast,  and  be 
as  great  as  Sassacus." 


FALL    OF    THE    PEQ.UOD. 


117 


This  double  appeal  to  ambition  and  cupidity,  was 
not  in  vain.  The  king  of  the  Narragansetts  paused, 
as  if  balancing  the  probabilities  of  profit  and  loss. 
He  then  suddenly  exclaimed, 

"But  what  are  these  English,  for  whom  you  are  so 
ready  to  raise  the  tomahawk  1  Before  the  Pequod 
warriors,  will  they  not  be  as  old  women  1" 

"  Come  and  see,"  was  the  laconic  and  somewhat  in 
dignant  reply. 

"  I  will  go  with  you,"  said  Miantonimoh,  proudly. 
"  Five  hundred  bows  shall  accompany  me." 

Uncas  imparted  the  result  of  his  negotiation  to  the 
commanders,  who  greatly  rejoiced,  and  viewed  it  as 
a  divine  interposition  in  their  favor.  Leaving  their 
vessels,  they  commenced  the  march  through  the  wil 
derness.  Tangled  forests,  thorny  thickets,  and  pro 
tracted  swamps  of  coarse  grass,  which  sometimes  at 
tained  a  height  of  three  or  four  feet,  opposed  their 
progress.  Added  to  these  obstructions  were  the  op 
pressive  warmth  of  the  weather,  and  a  scarcity  of 
provisions.  The  new  corn  having  been  but  recently 
planted,  and  that  of  the  previous  year  expended,  they 
had  scarcely  a  better  substitute  for  bread  than  the 
roots  dug  at  random  in  their  march.  A  small  quan 
tity  of  parched  corn  from  their  Indian  friends,  was 
esteemed  a  luxury. 

Almost  exhausted  with  their  toilsome  march 
through  this  trackless  country,  they  arrived,  at  the 
close  of  a  sultry  day,  within  two  miles  of  Fort  Mys 
tic,  and  made  their  humble  encampment  in  a  valley 


118  FALLOFTHEPEdUOD. 

between  two  hills.  Even  the  rocky  pillow  was  sweet 
to  our  wearied  ancestors.  Little  did  they  imagine 
that  they  rested  so  near  the  spot  where  Groton  mon 
ument  should  arise,  to  tell  the  traveler  of  battle 
between  the  land  of  their  birth  and  that  of  their 
adoption.  Had  their  slumbers  been  visited  by  visions 
of  such  warfare,  would  they  not  have  accounted  it  as 
the  strife  of  the  brothers  in  Eden,  and  grieved  like 
our  first  parent,  when  it  was  shown  him  by  the  arch 
angel  1 

The  sentinels,  who  were  placed  considerably  in 
advance  of  the  army,  heard  repeated  echoes  of  wild 
laughter  and  savage  mirth,  breaking  upon  the  still 
ness  of  midnight.  They  came  from  the  fort  where 
the  Pequod  warriors  held  a  festival,  their  last  on 
earth ;  ominous  as  the  revelry  of  the  armies  of  France 
on  the  eve  of  the  battle  of  Agincourt.  At  length, 
deep  silence  settled  on  the  fortress  of  the  red  men. 
The  moon  came  up  clear  in  the  heavens.  Mason 
and  Underbill  roused  their  soldiers.  Quickly  array 
ing  themselves,  the  chaplain,  in  few  and  solemn 
words,  commended  them  to  God.  They  mused  in 
their  hearts  on  those  deep,  low  tones,  which  linked 
their  hopes  with  the  name  of  the  Highest,  while  pur 
suing  their  way  without  a  whispered  sound,  guard 
ing  even  their  lightest  footfall.  In  the  heart  of  every 
man  was  a  picture  of  his  home,  where  wife,  or  chil 
dren,  or  aged  parents  lay  in  the  arms  of  sleep,  and 
whose  helplessness  he  felt  himself  commissioned  to 
defend.  The  valor  that  springs  from  such  guardian- 


FALL    OF     THE     PEQUOD.  119 

ship  is  not  like  other  valor.  It  imagines  itself  an 
image  of  His  might,  who  protects  a  slumbering 
world,  and  believes  even  its  severity  to  be  holy. 

They  reached  the  hill  which  was  crowned  by  the 
rude,  yet  formidable  fortress  of  the  Pequods.  As 
they  began  to  ascend,  their  allies,  the  Narragansetts, 
were  perceived  hanging  back,  like  a  dark  cloud 
around  its  base.  Mason  commanded  them  to  ad 
vance.  They  still  lingered. 

"  Is  it  perfidy  or  terror  that  detains  them  1"  he  de 
manded  of  the  Mohegan  king. 

"  They  fear  Sassacus,"  he  replied,  calmly,  "  more 
than  the  Spirit  of  Evil.  Miantonimoh's  heart  is  now 
like  Water  at  the  sight  of  yonder  fort." 

"  Give  them  orders  not  to  fly,"  said  Mason,  "  but 
to  stand  still,  and  see  how  brave  men  fight." 

He  then  divided  the  little  band  of  seventy-seven 
soldiers,  between  himself  and  Underbill,  for  the  at 
tack.  So  silent  were  their  movements,  that  they 
stood  under  the  very  walls  of  the  fort  without  dis 
covery.  Just  at  that  moment  a  dog  bai'ked.  Like 
the  winged  sentinel  of  Rome,  he  alarmed  the  be 
leaguered  citadel,  but  might  not  save  it. 

Starting  from  the  deep  sleep  which  succeeded 
their  revel,  the  Indians  evinced  a  lion-like  courage. 
They  rushed  unarmed  upon  drawn  swords ;  they 
grasped  the  bayonets  in  their  hands ;  they  wrested 
the  weapons  from  their  foes ;  they  grappled  with 
desperate  strength ;  and  yielded  only  when  they 
were  cut  in  pieces.  While  blood  was  pouring  in 


120  FALL    OF    THE    P  E  a  L*  O  D. 

torrents,  Mason  gave  the  terrible  order  to  burn  the 
fort,  and  the  village  that  was  sleeping  beneath  its 
wing.  Columns  of  fire  sprang  up  from  seventy  cone- 
like  roofs  of  combustible  material,  spreading  a  red 
glare  over  the  darkened  heavens.  The  affrighted 
inmates,  whose  dream  was  broken  by  the  flames 
that  were  to  destroy  them,  rushed  forth.  Mothers 
with  babes  in  their  arms,  little  ones  shrieking  in  vain 
for  protection,  flitted  like  shadows  and  vanished. 
Death  was  ready  for  them.  Scarce  one  escaped. 
Some,  at  the  sight  of  their  enemies,  fled  back  to 
their  flaming  dwellings  to  die  there,  like  the  misera 
ble  Jews,  preferring  the  burning  coals  of  their  be 
loved  temple,  to  the  mercy  of  the  Romans. 

Scarcely  in  the  records  of  history,  has  war  done 
her  work  with  greater  dispatch  or  more  entire  deso 
lation.  The  hour  opened  upon  a  slumbering  village 
and  a  fortress  quietly  crowning  the  wooded  hill-top. 
It  closed,  and  six  hundred  souls  had  taken  their 
flight :  every  dwelling  was  ashes,  and  every  family 
extinct.  Where  the  tower  of  their  strength  frown 
ed  was  a  mound  of  blackened  cinders,  smoldering 
in  the  blood  of  their  bravest  hearts. 

The  victorious  army  commenced  their  returning 
march.  They  had  not  escaped  unscathed,  though 
few  were  left  among  the  slain.  A  fourth  part  of 
their  number  were  disabled  by  wounds.  In  this 
emergency  the  friendship  of  their  Mohegan  allies 
was  invaluable.  Constructing  litters  of  the  woven 
branches  of  trees,  they  bore  the  sufferers  on  their 


FALL    OF    THE    P  E  a  U  O  D.  121 

shoulders,  and  by  their  knowledge  of  the  styptic  and 
healing  virtues  of  plants,  assuaged  their  sufferings. 

Neither  was  the  retreat  without  danger.  The  up 
roar  of  conflict  had  been  heard  afar,  startling  the  ear 
of  night.  Throngs  of  enraged  Pequods  hung  upon 
their  rear,  taking  deadly  aim  from  the  height  of 
rocks  or  the  covert  of  trees.  Mason  found  him 
self  called  upon,  like  Xenophon,  to  the  difficult  task 
of  conducting  a  retreat  through  an  enemy's  country; 
imitating  him,  also,  in  becoming  the  historian  of  his 
own  expedition.  A  distance  of  six  miles  was  to  be 
achieved,  with  the  foe  in  their  footsteps.  But  for  the 
aid  of  their  red  brethren,  they  would  probably  have 
been  intercepted  and  cut  off.  They  protected  the 
harassed  army,  often  forming  a  circle,  and  literally 
receiving  the  exhausted  veterans  in  their  friendly  and 
faithful  bosoms.  At  length,  the  white  sails  of  the 
waiting  vessels  were  seen,  expanded  by  a  favoring 
breeze,  the  harbor  attained,  and  the  wasted  and 
wearied,  yet  triumphant  band  embarked  on  their 
homeward  voyage. 

During  the  tumult  of  battle,  the  chaplain  retired 
to  a  deep- woven  thicket,  and  lifted  up  his  prayer  to 
the  Father  and  Judge  of  all.  He  besought  the  pres 
ervation  of  his  brethren,  and  that  the  needless  effu 
sion  of  blood  might  be  restrained.  While  Faith 
maintained  a  painful  struggle  with  the  emotions  of 
his  gentler  nature,  there  was  a  rushing  toward  the 
thicket,  as  of  a  deer  pursued  by  the  hunters.  Ere 
he  could  rise  from  the  humble  posture  of  devotion,  a 
L 


122  FALLOFTHEPEdUOD. 

young  girl  threw  herself  on  the  earth  and  clasped 
his  feet.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  he  disengaged 
himself.  Her  grasp  was  like  the  rigor  of  death. 
Fixing  her  wild  eyes  for  a  moment  on  his  counte 
nance,  she  shrieked  fearfully  and  long,  and  closed 
them,  as  he  thought,  forever.  There  was  blood  on 
her  forehead  and  bosom.  He  believed  that,  in  the 
torture  of  a  mortal  wound,  she  had  fled,  not  knowing 
whither. 

"  The  Savior,  of  whom  thou  hast  never  heard, 
have  mercy  upon  thy  poor  soul,"  said  the  man  of 
peace.  Bending  over  her  with  pity,  as  she  lay  at 
his  feet,  like  a  beautiful  bronze  statue,  he  thought, 

"  Surely  my  people  might  have  spared  to  take  the 
life  of  the  child." 

She  seemed  at  that  period  when  childhood  and 
youth  mingle,  in  doubtful  yet  pleasing  union.  At 
length  her  respiration  became  distinct — a  succession 
of  deep  sighs.  Life  stirred  in  her  deadened  cheek. 
The  trance  of  fear  was  broken.  She  partially  raised 
herself;  but  when  she  beheld  the  face  of  a  white 
man,  covered  her  eyes  with  a  shrill,  shuddering  cry. 
It  was  not  her  own  blood  that  was  upon  her  breast, 
but  the  blood  of  her  mother  and  of  her  little  sisters, 
to  whom  she  had  clung  through  the  flame  and  under 
the  sword.  The  holy  man  laid  his  hand  upon  her 
throbbing  forehead,  and  strove  to  assure  her  spiik. 
by  the  smile  and  tone  of  kindness,  that  universal  lan 
guage,  intelligible  to  the  heart  of  the  savage,  and 
which  even  the  eye  of  the  brute  deciphers. 


FALL    OF    THE    P  E  Q.  U  O  D.  123 

"  Poor  bird  ;  God  hath  sent  thee  unto  me,  perhaps, 
to  save  a  soul  alive  ;"  and  he  threw  his  mantle  around 
the  shivering  child.  When  the  battle  was  done,  and 
the  shouting  victors  sought  him  in  their  joy,  he  led 
her  through  ranks  of  scowling  soldiers  and  wonder 
ing  red  men. 

"God  hath  given  her  to  me,"  said  he,  and  they 
were  silent.  He  protected  her  through  the  perilous 
retreat  and  upon  the  waters,  and  brought  her  home 
to  his  wife  and  to  his  daughters ;  so  at  their  family 
altar,  morn  and  even,  was  a  petition  that  the  soul  of 
the  red-browed  orphan  might  be  dear  to  their  Father 
in  heaven. 

Gentle  treatment  arid  Christian  culture  were  as 
the  dew  and  sunbeam,  to  this  broken  forest  flower. 
Her  feelings  expanded  in  gratitude,  and  confirmed 
into  the  most  affectionate  trust.  Every  service  with 
in  the  measure  of  her  power  was  cheerfully  rendered 
to  her  benefactors.  She  learned  to  love  the  God  of 
Christians,  and  early  sought  permission  to  enrol  her 
self  among  the  followers  of  the  Redeemer. 

Seven  years  passed  away,  and  brought  to  this 
gentle  creature  the  ripeness  of  youth.  There  was 
about  her  a  flexibility  of  form  and  movement  ap 
proaching  to  grace,  and  that  peculiar  sweetness  of 
voice  which  distinguishes  our  aboriginal  females. 
Her  raven  locks,  profuse  and  glossy,  twined  in  thick 
braids  around  her  head,  and  gave  strong  relief  to  a 
complexion  whose  dark  hue  did  not  prevent  the  el 
oquent  blood  from  revealing  its  frequent  rush  to 


124  FALLOFTHEPEdUOD. 

cheek  or  temple.  Every  physical  and  intellectual 
development  indicated  exquisite  sensibility,  over 
which  pure  religion  diffused  a  serenity  which  made 
her  interesting  to  the  most  careless  beholder. 

I  have  said  that  seven  years  had  elapsed  since  the 
destruction  of  Fort  Mystic.  Connecticut  had,  in 
that  interval,  rapidly  gathered  strength  and  import 
ance.  Already  had  she  stretched  forth  her  hand  to 
aid  the  incipient  efforts  of  her  elder  sister,  Massa 
chusetts,  in  the  cause  of  education.  Her  simple  of 
ferings,  though  of  only  a  few  bushels  of  corn  or 
strings  of  wampum,  came  up  with  acceptance  to  an 
cient  Harvard's  mite-replenished  treasury. 

Hartford  had  also  assumed  an  aspect  of  compara 
tive  comeliness  and  vigor.  One  of  its  beautiful 
heights  was  adorned  with  a  spacious  mansion,  far 
exceeding  in  elegance  the  other  structures  of  that 
newly-planted  colony.  It  was  the  seat  of  the  Wyllys 
family,  whose  founder  was  not  less  conspicuous  for 
wealth  than  for  saintly  piety,  and  adorned  by  a  lawn 
and  garden,  in  imitation  of  his  own  fair  estate  in 
Warwickshire.  Among  the  ornaments  of  his  domain 
was  an  oak,  the  monarch  of  the  forest,  honored  after 
ward  in  annal  and  song  as  the  refuge,  not  of  his 
"  sacred  majesty,"  but  of  the  charter  which  his  sa 
cred  majesty's  brother  would  fain  have  rifled.  Still 
revered,  and  introduced  to  strangers  as  the  "Charter 
Oak,"  it  flourishes  in  green  old  age,  though  gener 
ation  after  generation  have  withered  beneath  its 
shade. 


FALLOFTHEPEdUOD.  125 

At  the  period  of  which  we  speak,  the  year  1644, 
a  funeral  train  passed  forth  from  that  stately  dwell 
ing.  The  head  of  that  ancient  house  was  no  more. 
Not  slightly  mourned,  did  he  part  from  a  colony, 
which  had  conferred  on  him  the  highest  office  in  its 
power  to  bestow.  Hartford  and  the  vicinity  poured 
forth  their  inhabitants,  from  the  child,  to  him  of  hoary 
hairs,  to  attend  those  obsequies.  There  Hooker 
lifted  up  his  voice,  and  with  fervid  eloquence  blessed 
the  dust  of  him  who  "  for  righteousness'  sake  had 
preferred  a  wilderness  to  the  palaces  of  Mammon, 
and,  like  the  prophet  borne  on  angels'  wings  from 
Pisgah,  esteemed  the  reproach  of  Christ  greater 
riches  than  the  treasures  of  Egypt." 

"  Behold,"  exclaimed  he,  "  in  what  manner  Death 
despoileth  man.  He  doth  not  uproot  the  groves  which 
he  planted  or  the  gardens  that  he  adorned,  but  he 
chaineth  the  -foot  that  walked  there.  He  taketh  not 
away  the  pleasant  pictures  from  the  walls,  but  he 
taketh  light  from  the  eye  that  looked  upon  them. 
The  desirable  children,  the  loving  wife  are  left,  but 
the  head,  and  husband,  is  cut  down  with  a  stroke. 
He  burneth  not  the  fair  and  goodly  mansion,  but  he 
taketh  the  master  out  of  it.  He  doth  not  destroy  his 
honors,  but  he  summoneth  him  away  from  them. 
'  This  night !  this  night  /'  is  the  cry,  and  immedi 
ately  he  giveth  up  the  ghost." 

His  eulogium  upon  the  departed  was  minute,  and 
according  to  the  quaint  taste  of  the  age.  He  spoke 
of  his  doctrines  and  of  his  deeds  ;  of  his  genealogy, 
L  2 


126  FALLOFTHEPEdUOD. 

clearly  traced  back  to  the  times  of  the  fourth  Ed 
ward  in  wealth  and  honor,  and  throughout  the 
stormy  feuds  of  the  houses  of  York  and  Lancaster, 
maintaining  a  consistent  valor.  Yet  his  aim  was  not 
to  magnify  adventitious  distinction,  but  the  grace  of 
God,  and  to  show  that  the  "  glory  of  man,  at  his  best 
estate,  is  altogether  vanity."  Impressed  with  these 
sentiments,  the  weeping  multitude  followed  in  sol 
emn  order  the  corpse  to  its  last  narrow  habitation. 
The  long  procession  moved  slowly  down  the  hill, 
and  extended  itself  toward  the  cemetery.  Scarce 
one  remained  behind,  save  the  Indian  maiden,  who, 
pensive  and  alone,  wandered  to  the  brow  of  the 
eastern  declivity,  which  commanded  a  noble  view 
of  the  valley  of  the  Connecticut.  She  fixed  her 
eye  upon  its  line  of  blue,  seen  in  sparkling  snatch 
es  through  the  foliage  of  embowering  trees.  Her 
revery  was  broken  by  a  muffled  form  springing  to 
ward  her  from  a  copse,  just  beneath  the  height  where 
she  stood.  She  would  have  started  away  like  the 
bounding  fawn,  but  the  complexion,  the  gesture  of 
her  own  people,  the  murmured  tones  of  her  native 
language,  arrested  her.  With  a  consciousness  as 
rapid  as  the  memory  of  the  heart,  she  recognized  the 
young  warrior  Ontologon,  of  the  ancient  line  of  her 
nation's  royalty.  Anxious  to  avoid  discovery,  and 
more  by  gestures  than  words,  he  signified  that  he 
had  tidings  of  importance  to  communicate,  and  re 
quested  an  interview  in  the  grove  that  skirted  her 
residence.  Scarcely  had  she  assented  ere  he  vanish- 


FALL    OF    THE    PEdUOD.  127 

ed  so  suddenly,  as  to  leave  on  her  mind  the  bewil 
dering  recollection  of  a  phantom  visitant.  Twilight 
had  faintly  taken  the  hue  of  evening  when  she  re 
paired  to  the  grove  in  which  the  garden  of  her  pro 
tector  terminated. 

"  Orramel,"  said  a  voice,  whose  deep  inflections 
thrilled  through  every  nerve,  and  the  lofty  young 
chieftain  of  her  people  stood  before  her.  For  a  mo 
ment  he  regarded  her  in  silence  with  the  keen  glance 
of  the  eagle,  who,  balanced  on  the  cloud,  gazes  into 
her  nest  to  see  if  aught  evil  hath  befallen  her  nurs 
lings  in  her  absence,  and  to  exult  in  their  beauty. 

"Orramel,  thou  rememberest  me.  I  saw  it  in  the 
flash  of  thy  wondering  eye,  when  on  the  hill-top  I 
stood  suddenly  before  thee.  I  knew  it  from  the 
blood  in  thy  cheek,  which  spoke  its  message  ere  thy 
lips  parted.'' 

"  Ontologon,  thy  tones  open  all  the  cells  of  mem 
ory.  They  call  back  the  dead.  I  see  my  mother 
fondling  her  babe.  I  sit  by  her  side  with  my  little 
sisters.  Again  our  home  seems  peaceful  and  happy, 
as  when  thou  didst  bring  to  my  childish  hand  birds 
of  bright  plumage,  which  thy  young  bow  had  taken." 

"  Where  are  that  mother  and  those  little  ones,  play 
ful  and  timid  as  the  fawns  1  Where  is  thy  home,  so 
softly  visited  by  the  sea-breeze  ]  Where  are  thy 
people  1  Black  ruins,  and  the  grass  that  grows  so 
rankly  where  blood  is  spilt,  answer  thee.  Thou 
canst  tell  me  of  the  flame  and  the  battle  ^when  our 
fortress  fell.  I  saw  them  not.  I  was  far  away  with 


128  FALL    OF    THE    PEdUOD. 

our  king.  Would  that  I  had  been  there,  that  I  might 
have  died  when  my  people  died,  or  cut  in  pieces 
their  oppressors." 

The  maiden  replied  only  with  deep  sobs,  and  the 
warrior  continued. 

"  Where  are  all  our  nation  ]  Parceled  out  as 
slaves,  or  covered  in  the  grave.  The  grave,  did  I 
say  1  That  were  too  blessed  a  refuge.  They  cast 
us  out  from  thence.  The  ploughshare  turneth  up 
the  bones  of  our  fathers  for  the  dogs  of  white  men. 
They  hunt  down  the  Pequod  like  the  wolf.  How 
long  have  I  lurked  among  these  hated  dwellings  that  I 
might  thus  look  upon  thee  1  Were  it  known  that  my 
feet  rested  upon  this  earth,  what,  suppose  ye,  would 
be  my  doom  ]  The  tender  mercies  of  the  honorable 
court,  the  tomahawk  of  Uncas,  or  the  friendship  of 
the  Narragansetts  ?  the  torture,  or  the  flame  ]" 

Orramel  bent  on  him  her  humid  eyes,  through 
which  the  soul  of  tender  pity  looked  forth. 

"  Lonely  maiden  !  are  we  not  the  last  of  our  race  1 
I  have  braved  every  peril  to  find  and  to  save  thee. 
I  seek  to  bear  thee  to  the  far  west,  where  the  eye  of 
the  pale  race  dare  not  follow.  I  will  build  our  cabin 
where  are  many  warriors,  and  thou  shalt  be  their 
queen.  My  voice  shall  control  them,  as  the  blast 
the  swelling  waves.  We  will  sweep  down  like  the 
mountain  torrent,  and  destroy  those  accursed  whites. 
We  will  quench  our  thirst  in  their  blood  till  not  a 
drop  remains." 

"  Ontologon,  the   desolation   of  my  race,  the   de- 


FALL    OF    THE    PEQUOD.  129 

struction  of  my  kindred,  are  heavy  on  my  heart,  both 
when  I  lie  down  and  when  I  rise  up.  Henceforth 
there  will  he  another  burden  there,  the  thought  of 
thy  sorrows.  Yet  curse  not  the  people  who  have 
given  me  bread  and  a  shelter,  and  taught  me  of  Je 
sus  Christ  and  the  hope  of  a  heavenly  home." 

"  And  so  thou  art  at  peace  with  the  white  man's 
God  /"  exclaimed  the  chieftain,  with  an  eye  that 
flashed  through  the  darkness  like  kindled  flame. 
"  They  have  spoken  soft  words  to  thee,  till  thou  hast 
forgotten  the  wrongs  of  thy  people  and  thy  mother's 
blood.  Art  thou  the  daughter  of  the  red  man,  and 
content  to  crouch  at  the  feet  of  his  murderers  1  and 
to  take  bread  from  hands  stained  with  his  blood,  and 
rusted  with  the  chains  that  have  eaten  into  his  soul  ? 
Wert  thou  not  dearer  to  me  than  heaven's  light,  I 
should  have  cleft  thy  brow  when  thou  didst  speak 
of  loving  Him  whom  white  men  worship." 

"  Ontologon,  I  have  told  thee  truth.  The  God  of 
Christians  is  my  God.  I  have  sworn  it  at  His  altar. 
I  may  not  turn  back  from  following  Him.  I  have 
said  to  thee  that  no  music  like  thy  voice  hath  met  my 
ear  since  I  sat  on  my  mother's  knee.  And  I  could 
find  it  in  my  heart  to  dwell  with  thee  in  the  deep  for 
est,  as  the  dove  dwelleth  with  her  mate  ;  but  I  can 
not  forsake  the  Savior,  to  whose  keeping  I  have  com 
mitted  my  soul." 

The  stately  form  of  the  chief  was  shaken  with  vio 
lent  and  contending  emotions,  as  the  oak  reels  in  the 
storm. 
9 


130  F  A  L  L    O  F    T  H  E    P  E  Q  L"  O  D. 

"  Meet  me  yet  once  more,  Orramel,  only  once 
more.  For  thy  sake,  I  will  endure  to  hide  yet  an 
other  day  amid  the  haunts  of  those  I  hate.  "When 
again  the  sun  sleeps,  and  the  stars  begin  their  watch, 
come  to  me  where  the  rivers  mingle.  My  boat  shall 
be  moored  there.  If  thou  wilt  go  with  me,  we  will 
seek  a  happier  clime.  If  thou  wilt  not,  thou  shalt  be 
free  to  return,  as  the  forest  bird  to  her  nest." 

He  plunged  into  the  thicket,  and  in  a  moment  was 
lost  to  her  view.  The  meditations  of  that  sleepless 
night,  and  of  the  day  that  ensued,  were  trying  and 
tumultuous  to  the  red-browed  maiden.  He  who  had 
prepared  her  innocent  childhood  for  the  germ  of  love, 
had  suddenly  come  like  the  husbandman  to  claim  the 
fruits  of  the  vineyard,  when  she  supposed  him  buried 
with  her  fellow-kindred.  To  her  kind  benefactors 
she  dared  not  resort  for  counsel,  since  a  knowledge 
of  the  proximity  of  her  lover  would  endanger  both 
his  liberty  and  life.  Often  during  this  period  of  agi 
tation  was  she  on  her  knees  in  her  solitary  chamber, 
imploring  His  aid  who  conh'rmeth  the  doubting  heart 
and  "  giveth  discretion  to  the  simple." 

Evening  tardily  spread  her  curtain  over  the  spot 
appointed  for  their  meeting.  It  was  at  the  junction 
of  the  Connecticut  with  a  considerable  tributary. 
The  Dutch,  who  exhibit  the  same  shrewdness  in  the 
choice  of  sites  favorable  to  commerce,  which  the 
monks  of  England  anciently  discovered  in  selecting 
warm  and  sheltered  nooks  for  their  convents  and 
cloisters,  had  originally  erected  here  a  fortress,  or 


FALL    OF    THE    PEQUOD.  ,131 

trading-house,  which  they  called  the  "  Hirse  of  Good 
Hope."  Though  their  occupancy  was  transient,  the 
locality  still  retains  the  designation  of"  Dutch  Point," 
and  was  long  distinguished  by  its  gentle  and  graceful 
undulations,  and  the  velvet  richness  of  its  shaven  lawn. 

The  rising  moon,  whose  full  disk  silvered  the  tree 
tops,  revealed  the  slight  form  of  the  maiden  resting 
against  the  trunk  of  an  elm,  while  the  stately  war 
rior,  seated  at  her  feet,  bowed  his  head  on  his  hand 
in  melancholy  thought. 

"  Orramel,  I  spake  strong  and  stormy  words  to 
thee  when  last  we  parted.  My  heart  burned  within 
me,  to  see  thee  in  the  coil  of  the  serpent.  Thou  art 
as  the  moon  to  my  midnight  path.  Without  thee, 
what  would  be  my  life  but  a  rootless  weed  !  I  was 
then  maddened  with  the  fear  of  losing  thee.  But 
now  I  read  other  language  in  thy  gentle  eyes.  I 
know  that  thou  wilt  go  with  me.  I  will  make  thine 
home  in  the  heart  of  the  green  forest,  where  the 
thrush  and  the  wood-robin  sing;  and  thou  shalt  bo 
more  to  me  than  the  song  of  birds,  or  the  spring  to 
the  ice-bound  stream." 

The  maiden  replied  not.  There  was  in  the  tones 
of  his  deep  and  tender  voice  something,  that,  even 
when  it  ceased,  made  her  heart  a  listener. 

"  Our  race  have  vanished  away,"  he  added,  mourn 
fully,  "  like  the  dew  when  the  sun  ariseth.  From 
these  waters,  and  from  the  shores  of  the  broad  sea 
where  our  kings  held  dominion,  our  power  hath  de 
parted.  Our  council  fires  are  quenched.  Upon  the 


132  F  A  I,  L    O  F    T  II  E    P  E  a  U  O  D. 

« 

very  lands  that  were  his  at  the  beginning,  the  IJe- 
quod  dares  not  set  his  feet.  As  for  me,  who  of  all 
my  kindred  are  left  ?  Is  there  one  to  take  Ontologon 
by  the  hand,  and  call  him  brother  1  When  he  is 
sick,  has  he  a  mother  or  a  sister  to  spread  the  blank 
et  over  him  ?  When  he  dies,  who  shall  bury  him 
with  his  fathers  1  There  is  none  left  to  remember 
him,  or  to  shed  the  tear  over  his  grave." 

"Ontologon,  1  can  not  bear' to  hear  thee  say  that 
our  whole  race  have  perished.  My  heart  is  sad  at 
the  thought  that  thou  hast  neither  brother,  nor  sister, 
nor  mother.  I  will  go  with  thee,  that  thou  mayest  no 
more  lament  in  loneliness,  or  be  sick,  and  find  no 
comforter.  For  thee  I  will  forsake  those  who  have 
been  to  me  as  parents.  But  thou  wilt  not  refuse 
that  1  should  remember  their  God  and  my  God,  that 
I  should  speak  to  Him  when  the  light  fadeth  and 
when  the  morning  ariseth  in  the  east,  and  that  I 
should  keep  His  Sabbaths  in  my  soul." 

"  Orramel,  I  may  not  deceive  thee.  The  white 
man  would  promise  thee,  with  the  oath  on  his  lips, 
whatsoever  thou  desiredst.  When  thou  wert  in  his 
power,  his  vows  would  be  lighter  than  the  sum 
mer  wind.  He  would  mock  thee,  that  thou  hadst 
trusted  them.  The  red  man  dares  not  thus  to  sin. 
He  knows  that  the  Great  Spirit  hath  an  ear  which 
the  lightest  breath  of  falsehood  reaches.  I  will  not 
consent  that  thou  shouldst  love  the  Christian's  God. 
I  could  not  rest  if  the  plague-spot  of  our  foes  was 
upon  thy  bosom." 


F  A  L  L    O  F    T  II  E    P  E  Q  U  O  D.  133 

"  Oritologon,  is  not  my  request  small  ?  Doth  the 
water-lily  offend  the  flower  of  the  sun  when  it  bend- 
cth  beneath  the  waters  1  Doth  the  stream  dishonor 
its  fountain  when  it  findeth  rest  in  the  sea]  AVould 
it  wrong  thee  that  my  hope  was  in  Him  who  made 
heaven  and  earth  1  that  my  prayer  went  up  for  thee 
while  thou  didst  bend  thy  bow  in  the  forest  1" 

"  Maiden  of  the  dark  and  tender  eye,  the  path  in 
which  we  walk  upon  earth  is  short.  Hoary-headed 
men  say  it  is  to  them  as  a  dream.  When  thou  di- 
ost,  could  I  see  thee  go  to  the  white  man's  heaven  ? 
Could  I  go  there  with  thee  ]  Could  I  remain  in  that 
heaven  if  his  soul  dwelt  there  1  No,  no  !  Our  home 
after  death  must  be  the  same.  Could  I  bear  to  miss 
thee  forever  in  those  fields  of  light,  where  our  fa 
thers  dwell,  above  the  roll  of  the  thunder?  Orra- 
mel,  it  shall  not  be  so.  I  will  lead  thy  footsteps 
back  to  the  Great  Spirit.  He  will  forgive  that  thou 
hast  wandered.  He  knoweth  that  the  heart  of  wom 
an  is  weak.  When  thy  hand  is  in  mine,  thou  shalt 
fall  no  more." 

"  Ontologon,  thou  art  more  noble  than  the  kings 
from  whom  thou  art  descended.  Thou  hast  not  hid 
den  the  truth  from  me.  Now  could  I  lay  down  my 
life  for  thy  sake.  But  I  dare  not  lay  down  my  faith. 
While  I  live, .the  Book  of  God  must  be  my  guide; 
when  I  die,  may  my  soul  go  unto  the  Redeeme:-." 

"  Is  it,  then,  for  this,"  said  the  warrior,  "that  I 
have  borne  long  years  of  darkness,  whose  only  light 
was  thy  childish  smile,  which  memory  held  forth  to 
M 


F  ALL    O  F    T  II  K    P  E  Q  U  O  D. 


me  like  a  feeble  lamp  ]  For  this,  that  when  life 
grew  hateful,  and  I  was  about  to  cast  it  away,  I 
walked  onward  with  a  strong  step  and  a  lifted  brow 
at  the  sound,  '  Orramcl  lircth  ?'  Is  it  for  this  that 
I  have  bowed  my  pride  to  grovel  as  a  snake  in  the 
thicket,  that  I  might  again  breathe  the  same  air  that 
thou  didst  breathe,  and  once  more  look  upon  thee  ] 
All  troubles  were  forgotten  when  the  sound  of  thy 
voice  fell  upon  my  ear.  At  the  words,  '  /  u-'dl  go 
with  thee,'  a  new  existence  entered  into  my  soul. 
And  now,  have  I  found  this  treasure  only  to  lay  it 
down?  Have  we  met  but  to  part  forever]  Must  I 
walk  alone  under  tne  cloud  of  midnight,  till  I  sink  in 
the  grave,  the  last  of  all  my  7~ace  ?" 

"  Let  me  be  to  thee,  Ontologon.  the  light  which 
thou  hast  sought.  When  thou  art  weary  and  sad, 
let  me  teach  thee  how  to  smile.  We  will  walk  to 
gether  till  that  dark  angel  divide  us  who  cometh  but 
once  to  all.  Yet  let  me  speak  to  thee  of  my  story. 
Long  after  my  abode  was  with  white  men,  I  was 
sorrowful  and  without  hope.  He  who  saved  me 
from  destruction  was  as  a  father,  and  his  wife  as  a 
mother,  and  their  children  spake  kind  words  to  me. 
But  I  found  no  comfort.  Every  night  my  pillow 
was  as  a  fountain  of  tears.  Thus  it  was,  till  their 
sweet  religion  entered  into  my  soul.  It  set  the  seal 
of  peace  on  my  eyes  when  I  lay  down  to  slumber, 
and  when  I  awoke  it  talked  with  me.  All  day  long, 
it  put  meek  and  happy  thoughts  into  my  heart,  and 
it  promised  to  pluck  for  me  the  sting  from  death,  and 


F  A  LL    OF    THE    PEQUOD.  ,135 


to  take  the  victory  from  the  grave.  Then  I  partook 
of  its  holiest  rite,  and  bound  my  soul  by  an  everlast 
ing  covenant,  and  took  that  holy  Book  to  rny  heart 
which  teaches  of  its  precepts.  Gladly  would  I  read 
to  thee  from  those  blessed  pages  of  a  clime  without 
sorrow  or  injustice,  where  none  shall  be  forced  from 
his  inheritance,  and  where  all  the  righteous  shine 
forth  as  the  '  Sun  in  the  kingdom  of  their  Father.' 
Yet,  if  it  troubleth  thee,  I  will  not  speak  of  my  faith. 
I  will  shut  it  close  in  my  soul.  Thou  shalt  see  it 
only  by  the  smile  that  beams  from  it,  and  the  cour 
age  it  giveth  at  the  gate  of  death." 

The  lofty  chieftain  threw  himself  upon  the  earth. 
Groans  burst  from  his  laboring  bosom,  and  his  whole 
form  was  convulsed.  Let  none  believe  that  he  has 
seen  anguish  till  he  witnesses  the  agony  of  the  strong, 
proud  man.  He  may  have  beheld  the  lightning  and 
the  tempest,  but  not  the  earthquake  rending  the  rock 
in  pieces. 

At  length  the  strife  of  passion  yielded.  He  rose, 
in  heightened  majesty.  His  voice  was  firm  and  aw 
ful,  as  he  extended  his  hand  toward  the  maiden. 

"  If  thou  wilt  be  mine,  wholly  and  forever,  put  thy 
hand  into  my  hand,  and  not  even  death  shall  pait  us. 
But  if  thou  choosest  the  faith  of  the  murderers  of  thy 
people,  and  to  dwell  in  their  heaven' rather  than  in 
the  heaven  of  our  fathers,  say  so,  and  let  me  see  thy 
face  no  more." 

The  answer  was  distinct,  though  the  heart's  tears 
gushed  with  it,  "  I  may  not  renounce  my  Redeemer" 


130  FALLOFTHEPEdUOD. 

"With  a  rush  that  seemed  superhuman,  the  chief 
tain  threw  himself  from  the  high  bank  into  his  boat. 
A  few  strokes  of  the  oar,  as  from  a  giant's  arm, 
drove  it  from  the  deep  shadow  where  it  lay,  out  upon 
the  broad,  bright  waters.  Then  it  seemed  to  drift 
onward  at  its  will.  In  that  despairing  reaction 
which  succeeds  passionate  excitement,  he  lay  pros 
trate  with  a  powerless  arm,  submitting  to  the  guicl- 
arice  of  the  tide,  and  reckless  of  life  or  death. 

Orramel  stood  upon  the  point  of  the  promontory 
where  the  rivers  mingle.  She  watched  the  boat  of 
her  lover,  until  the  sinuous  and  projecting  shore  shut 
it  from  her  view.  But  he  raised  not  his  head,  nor 
waved  his  hand.  He.  gave  no  farewell  signal  to  soft 
en  that  bitter  parting.  She  listened  for  some  echo 
of  his  voice.  Nothing  was  heard  save  the  rush  of 
the  waters,  and  the  sigh  of  the  gale  through  the 
boughs  of  the  drooping  willows. 

A  strong  burst  of  feeling  swept  over  her.  She 
returned  to  the  place  where  they  had  parted.  She 
seated  herself  on  the  earth  where  he  had  sat.  She 
strove  to  recall  every  word  that  he  had  spoken.  She 
wove  every  tone  into  the  tissues  of  memory.  It  was 
late  ere  she  roused  herself  from  her  grief,  and  re 
covered  strength  to  retrace  her  homeward  way. 

She  still  continued  faithful  in  all  her  duties,  full 
of  gratitude  to  her  benefactors,  and  humble  as  the 
weaned  child.  It  was  evident  to  a  close  observer 
that  some  sorrow  had  passed  over  her,  but  a  sorrow 
in  which  remorse  had  no  part.  A  pure  conscience  so 


r 

F  A  L  L    O  F    T  II  E    P  E  a  U  O  D.  137 

girded  the  swelling  heart  that  it  broke  not.  Peace 
that  the  world  can  not  give  made  her  brow  its  tablet. 
Thus  she  lived  till  youth  faded,  respected  by  the 
race  among  whom  she  had  found  refuge.  Yet  the 
soul  of  her  lover  was  ever  upon  her  prayers,  and 
when  the  last  pale  messenger  came  to  summon  her, 
and  her  eye  brightened  at  the  welcome  of  that  Sav 
ior  in  whom  she  had  believed,  the  ear  that  approach 
ed  nearest  to  her  dying  lips  perceived  that  their  faint, 
parting  whisper  was  "  mercy  for  Onfologon." 

In  reviewing  the  circumstances  which  have  given 
to  this  sketch  a  subject  and  a  name,  we  are  struck 
with  the  prominence  and  discordance  of  some  of  the 
features  in  the  character  of  our  ancestors:  the  bold 
ness  with  which,  in  the  very  birth  of  their  colonial 
existence,  they  hazarded  this  formidable  enterprise, 
the  cruelty  with  which  it  was  consummated,  and  the 
piety  to  which  they  turned  for  a  sanction,  even  when 
deed  and  motive  seemed  at  variance.  The  unrestiiig 
vigilance  with  which  they  blotted  out  the  very  name 
of  Pequod,  partitioning  the  last  remnant  of  that  race 
in  vassalage  between  the  Mohegans,  the  Narragan- 
setts,  and  themselves,  was  not  less  arbitrary  than  the 
dismemberment  of  Poland,  and  savored  more  of  the 
policy  of  heathen  Rome  than  of  Christ. 

Mason,  in  common  with  the  historians  of  that  age, 
bitterly  blamed  the  Indians  for  stratagem  in  war, 
but  chose  to  adopt  the  creed  that  he  had  denounced, 
and  to  prove  himself  an  adept  in  the  theory  that  he 
condemned. 

M  2 


1  38  F  A  L  L    O  F    T  H  E    P  E  Q,  U  O  D. 

Still,  we  would  contemplate  with  filial  respect  the 
memory  of  our  ancestors.  We  venerate  their  lofty 
virtues,  and  view  their  errors  with  regret.  Many 
of  their  most  prominent  faults  sprang  from  the  pe 
culiarity  of  their  position.  The  light  that  visits  our 
advancing  age  had  not  beamed  on  them.  Luminous 
minds  had  not  then  arisen  to  present  the  war  spirit 
in  its  true  aspect,  or  to  strip  it  of  that  false  glory 
with  which  antiquity  had  invested  it.  No  divine 
had  then  eloquently  pointed  out  that  "  universal  bal 
let  by  which  mankind  might  cast  from  its  seat  of 
power  the  bloody  idol  of  a  long-infatuated  world." 

The  consciousness  that  they  were  the  sole  guard 
ians  of  the  "  vine  planted  in  the  wilderness,"  and  the 
dread  of  its  extermination,  forced  them  into  conflict, 
which  in  this  instance  was  most  stern  and  sanguinary, 
kindling  the  flame  over  the  heads  of  slumbering  house 
holds,  and  smiting  the  infant  in  its  mother's  arms. 

The  young  student  of  American  history,  in  record 
ing  the  date  of  May  20th,  1637,  will  remember  it  as 
the  era  when  a  once-powerful  aboriginal  tribe  ceas 
ed  to  exist.  It  perished  without  a  hand  to  write  its 
epitaph :  an  emblem  of  the  fate  of  that  vanishing 
race  to  whom  the  brotherhood  of  the  white  man 
hath  hitherto  been  as  the  kiss  of  Judas. 


~1 


T  HE    Y  A  N  K  E  E. 


'  Strange  phrase  and  quaint,  but  spirit  shrewd, 
And  heart  with  pious  thoughts  embued." 


THE   YANKEE, 


THERE  is  sometimes  a  period  in  -the  life  of  nations, 
as  well  as  of  individuals,  when  the  energies  work  in 
diseased  channels,  and  a  morbid  imagination  pictures 
"destruction  before  them,  and  sorrow  behind."  Such 
seemed  the  condition  of  the  oldest  colony,  the  moth 
er  of  New  England,  when  about  to  pass  the  seven 
tieth  year  of  her  existence. 

Within  her  borders  she  beheld  a  savage  foe,  wrong 
ed  and  inexorable,  the  print  of  whose  stealthy  foot 
step  was  red  with  the  blood  of  the  defenceless.  The 
fathers  who  had  been  her  guides  ;  the  ancient  priests, 
whose  wisdom  was  as  the  Urim  and  Thummim  to  the 
multitude,  were  with  the  dead.  We,  in  whose  minds 
respect  for  age  is  less  deeply  rooted  than  of  old,  can 
but  imperfectly  realize  the  "  horror  of  great  dark 
ness"  that  settled  upon  her  soul  as  the  last  vestiges 
of  that  patriarchal  race  disappeared.  One  by  one 
the  stars  were  muffled,  the  beacon-lights  withdrawn, 
and  she  left  to  steer  her  lonely  barque  amid  the  troub 
led  waters. 

Other  causes  conspired  to  harass  and  depress  the 
people  :  heavy  taxation ;  the  almost  utter  extinction 
of  commerce ;  and  a  sea-coast  infested  by  piratical 


1  42  THE    YANKEE. 


cruisers.  France,  irritated  by  a  recent  invasion  of 
Canada,  menaced  the  colonies  with  her  vengeance. 
"  They  were  becoming,"  says  Upham,  in  his  Lec 
tures,  "  the  victims  of  political  jealousies,  discon 
tent,  and  animosities ;  their  minds  were  startled 
and  confounded  by  forebodings  of  dark  and  dismal 
events ;  and,  as  it  were,  to  crown  the  whole,  and  fill 
up  the  measure  of  their  affliction  and  terror,  it  was 
their  universal  and  sober  belief,  that  the  Evil  lie- 
ing  himself  was  in  a  special  manner  let  loose,  and 
permitted  to  descend  upon  them  with  unexampled 
fury." 

It  was  from  the  midst  of  this  discomfort  and  gloom, 
this  "  fearful  looking-for  of  judgment,"  that  the  delu 
sion  at  Salem  sprang  forth.  Though  not  without 
precedent  in  an  older  continent,  it  derived  peculiar 
elements  of  sternness  and  inveteracy  from  the  local 
ity  and  circumstances  of  its  birth.  Few  of  those 
influences  that  soften  and  unbend  the  minds  of  men 
were  then  in  operation.  Literature  and  science  gave 
but  a  feeble  infusion  of  their  spirit,  and  social  inter 
course  seldom  sparkled  with  hilarity.  Seeds  of  re 
ligious  dissension  were  vegetating,  and  whatever 
form  of  bitterness  or  superstition  seized  upon  the 
mind,  was  pursued  with  the  exclusiveness  of  mono 
mania. 

An  isolated  and  ascetic  state  of  feeling  was  doubt 
less  nourished  by  the  tardy  and  infrequent  commu 
nication  between  the  settlements.  No  post-roads  or 
periodicals  diffused  intelligence,  and,  penetrating  to 


THE    YANKEE.  1,43 


the  most  remote  solitudes,  bound  the  extremities  to 
the  heart  in  strong  and  warm  vitality.  The  advent 
urous  traveler  encountered  not  only  fatigue,  but  per 
il,  for  he  knew  that  he  must  pass  dense  and  over 
shadowing  forests,  where  the  watchful  Indian  prowl 
ed.  So  slow  was  the  transmission  of  news,  that  the 
awful  tragedy  at  Salem,  which  commenced  early  in 
1693,  did  not  reach  for  several  months  a  colony  of 
Huguenots,  planted  about  forty  miles  from  Boston. 
Few  in  number,  and  occupied  with  those  labors  on 
which  existence  depended,  vague  rumors,  as  of  some 
distorted  and  horrible  dream,  at  length  floated  to 
their  hermit  residence. 

It  was  at  that  period  when  autumn  fosters  the  fad 
ing  beauties  of  summer,  and  yet  announces  the  ap 
proach  of  winter  by  infusing  a  slight  chill  into  the 
evening  atmosphere.  The  harvest  of  maize  had 
been  principally  gathered  and  deposited  in  a  rude 
tenement,  which  served  as  a  public  granary.  Lights 
were  seen  there  to  glimmer,  after  they  had  one  by 
one  vanished  from  the  surrounding  habitations.  A 
few  men,  employed  in  separating  the  golden  sheaves 
from  their  investing  sheath,  still  prolonged  their 
pleasant  toil,  listening  to  the  narrations  of  a  hardy 
New  England  yeoman,  who  for  the  past  year  had 
assisted  these  more  delicate  natives  of  France  in  the 
ruder  labors  of  husbandry.  While  in  the  midst  of 
an  animated  description  of  the  festivities  of  what  he 
called  a  "  real  buskin'  frolic,"  which  he  had  some 
times  shared  among  his  own  people,  he  was  inter- 


14  i  THE    YANKEE. 


rupted  by  a  heavy  knock  at  the  door,  and  the  sudden 
entrance  of  a  wearied  stranger.  A  word  or  two  in 
an  under-tone  caused  an  exclamation  of  amazement. 

"  Why,  Cousin  Jehiel  Wigglesworth !  it  can't  be 
you  !  in  such  torn  and  awful  riggin'  !  Have  the  In 
dians  come  down  upon  Maiden  ]  and  was  you  ne 
cessitated  to  fly  for  your  life  '>." 

"  Indians,  do  ye  say  ]  What  is  a  host  of  coward 
ly  heathen  to  the  terrible  visitations  of  the  spirits  of 
darkness  ]  We  read  in  the  Bible  of  only  one  witch 
of  Endor,  and  she  busied  herself  with  calling  up  the 
dead ;  but  Salem  town  is  full  of  witches,  from  one 
eend  to  t'other,  and  they  do  nothing  but  torment  the 
living." 

To  the  inquiry  of  his  cousin  respecting  the  reas 
ons  of  his  removal  from  Maiden,  their  native  place, 
he  answered, 

"  You  know  I  come  of  age  last  winter,  and  so  I 
told  father  he  might  as  well  get  some  work  out  of 
brother  Titus,  who  is  a  stout  youngster,  and  I  would 
go  and  hire  myself  out  a  spell  and  'am  a  little  mon 
ey.  I  had  heard  of  a  minister  in  Salem,  one  Mr. 
Parris,  who  wanted  help,  and  I  reckoned  'twould  be 
a  good  notion  to  live  with  a  minister,  because,  their 
portion  not  being  in  this  world,  they  would  not  be 
likely  to  insist  on  so  much  hard  slaving.  But  I  was 
rather  discomfited  at  our  first  meeting.  He  obsarved 
that  he  was  particular  in  inquiring  the  character  of 
sarrants,  because  he  chose  to  have  only  those  of  good 
report.  'Sar cants  T  said  I ;  '  I  never  was  any  body's 


THE    Y  A  XK  E  E.  145 


sarvant,  and  I  never  mean  to  be.'  So  I  turned  to 
go  off',  thinking  he  was  too  mighty  topping  for  me. 
But  he  said  over  a  text  or  two  of  Scripture,  which 
made  me  as  quiet  as  a  lamb,  how  that  we  all  had  a 
Master  in  heaven,  and  that  he  only  wanted  me  to  be 
his  lidp.  Then  I  felt  ashamed  that  I  had  been  so 
mad  and  hasty,  and  made  an  agreement  with  him, 
and  lived  quiet  and  peaceable,  till  I  was  carried  to 
Salem  jail." 

"To  the  jail!  to  the  jail!  You  don't  say  so! 
None  of  our  relations  ever  come  to  such  disgrace 
before  !  No  wonder  you  look  so  exceedin'  dump 
ish.  Tell  me  all  that  you  did,  without  any  prevari 
cation." 

"  Cousin  Jehoshaphat  Jones,  have  a  little  patience. 
Every  thing  in  its  right  place.  I  guess  you  had  bet 
ter  hear  first  consarning  my  dealings  at  the  minis 
ter's.  My  business  was  to  dig  in  the  gardin,  and  to 
chop  wood,  and  to  take  care  of  the  dumb  critturs, 
which  consisted  of  an  old  horse,  quite  lean  in  flesh, 
and  a  cow  with  balls  at  her  horns,  'cause  she  routed 
down  fences  when  she  could  get  a  chance,  and  a 
flock  of  hens,  which  it  was  a  power  of  trouble  to 
watch  and  scare  out  of  the  neighbor's  corn  ;  more 
over,  to  rnind  the  minister's  wife  in  all  she  directed." 

"  And  was  it  really  a  great  sight  easier  to  live  with 
a  minister  than  to  be  on  the  good  old  farm  at  home  ] 
Did  you  get  enough  to  eat  1" 

"  1  liked  all  well  enough  except  the  Sabba-day 
dinners  ;  for  then  they  never  got  any  victuals.  They 
10  N 


146  THE    YANKEE. 


are  no  upholders  of  fasting  in  Boston ;  they  under 
stood  good  eating  and  drinking  there  right  well. 
But  Salem  folks  seemed  to  me  more  for  skinchinor 

O 

and  saving.  However,  there  was  really  nothing 
worth  complaining  on,  till  them  great  and  grievous 
trials  come  down  like  a  clap  of  thunder.  The  min 
ister's  darter  and  his  niece,  who  lived  with  them, 
hoth  smart,  sprightly  gals  of  eleven  or  twelve  years 
old,  were  brought  all  of  a  sudden  under  the  power 
of  the  Evil  One,  and  tormented  just  like  the  children 
of  Mr.  John  Goodwin  at  North  Boston,  a  few  years 
before.  Cousin  Jehoshaphat,  did  not  you  read  that 
marvelous  account  published  by  a  godly  and  larned 
minister  1" 

"  Yes,  I  did  ;  but  it  seemed  to  me  a  deal  more 
like  their  own  ugliness  than  any  other  sort  of  witch 
craft." 

"  Jehoshaphat  Jones,  just  in  that  same  way  other 
bold  ones  blasphemed  and  made  their  mocks,  but 
some  of  them  got  hung  upon  the  gallows  like  proud 
Hainan,  a  spectacle  to  heaven  and  airth.  It  is  true 
that  them  two  gals  was  the  most  tormentedest  critters 
that  eyes  ever  beheld.  Sometimes  we'd  find  them 
a  standing  in  brooks  of  water,  saying  that  the  Wick 
ed  One  wanted  to  drown  'em  ;  then  they'd  be  a 
clinging  to  the  tops  of  high  trees,  where  they'd  no 
way  in  natur'  of  getting,  crying  out  that  he  com 
manded  'em  to  throw  themselves  down  from  thence." 

"  Jehiel,  wasn't  there  apples  or  some  sort  of  fruit  on 
them  trees  1  I  guess  I've  seen  children  climb  pretty 

i 


THE    YANKEE.  147 

decent  high  arter  green  apples,  without  no  super 
natural  help." 

"  Well,  what  should  they  run  upon  the  ridge-pole 
of  the  barn,  and  bemoan  themselves  there  for  1  You 
don't  s'pose  any  green  apples  grew  there,  do  ye  ] 
An4  when  the  poor  souls  set  down  to  comfort  them 
selves  with  a  meal  of  victuals,  who  do  you  calculate 
drew  their  tongues  out  of  their  mouths,  and  laid 
them  all  along  upon  their  chins,  so  that  they  were 
not  able  to  eat  a  single  mou'ful  ]" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  guess  they  did  not  see  any 
thing  they  liked  on  the  table,  and  thought  they'd 
make  a  push  to  get  something  more  to  their  taste." 

"  Who  do  you  reckon  run  pins  into  'em,  and  left 
the  marks  of  great  pinches  and  bites  on  their  inno 
cent  flesh  1  And  what  made  'em,  when  they  was 
told  only  to  do  the  least  little  chore,  fall  into  fits  like 
one  about  to  die  ]" 

"  Why,  Jehiel,  I  have  made  believe  to  be  sick  my 
self,  when  I  was  a  small  boy,  and  told  to  hoe  corn 
or  weed  the  gardin  ;  but  I  was  always  mighty  well 
if  any  play  was  going  on.  And  I  have  seen  bigger 
folks  sarve  their  master  in  that  way  time  and  again. 
Who  pinched  and  bit  those  gals,  I  don't  undertake 
to  say  ;  but  I  rather  guess,  if  the  minister  had  given 
them  a  smart  box  on  the  ear,  as  father  used  to  me, 
they'd  gone  to  work  and  felt  better." 

"  It  is  very  likely,  to  be  sure,  that  with  your  poor 
edecation  you  should  know  more  of  their  case  than 
all  the  wise  and  rich  gentlemen  who  come  to  see 


148  THE    YANKEE. 


and  pity  'em,  and  the  host  of  ministers  too,  who  used 
to  pray  and  exhort  over  'em.  And  when  them  that 
was  the  most  gifted,  and  could  hold  out  the  longest, 
were  a  putting  up  petitions,  it  was  awful  to  see  the 
sufferings  of  them  children.  Every  inch  of  their 
flesh  would  tremble,  as  if  the  Evil  Spirit  was  about 
to  come  out  of  'em,  but  it  was  only  because  he  was 
mad  and  tired  to  hear  the  precious  saints  commun 
ing  so  long  with  the  Lord.  Then  the  poor  babes 
might  not  enjoy  the  comfort  of  saying  the  Lord's 
Prayer  themselves  ;  for  they'd  always  be  forced  to 
leave  out  some  part  of  it.  And  when  Mr.  Parris 
would  say,  '  Begin  again,  and  say  it  right,'  they'd  be 
speechless.  Neither  was  they  permitted  to  read  a 
single  godly  book,  whereby  their  souls  might  'a  been 
comforted  under  their  body's  tribulation.  The  wick 
ed  sarpent  would  allow  them  to  read  silly  stories  and 
jeest  books,  to  be  sure,  and  if  they  was  particular 
unchristian  and  bad,  they'd  giggle  and  shout  till  even 
the  neighbors  heard  the  racket.  But  when  the  As 
sembly  of  Divines'  Catechize  was  put  into  their 
hands,  oh  !  such  whooping  and  hollowing;  and  if  it 
was  not  taken  directly  out  of  their  sight,  they'd  have 
the  terriblest  fits,  and  scare  the  minister's  wife  nigh 
upon  to  death." 

"  Law,  Cousin  Jehiel,  as  for  that  monstrous  long 
catechize,  I'd  have  screamed  as  bad  as  they,  and  had 
as  many  fits,  if  I  could  only  frightened  mother  out 
of  the  notion  of  making  me  larn  it." 

"  Jehoshaphat  Jones,  I  feel  bound  to  say  unto  you 


THE    Y  A  \  KE  E.  149 


what  holy  Mr.  Baxter  saith  in  his  preface  to  the  book 
about  John  Goodwin's  afflicted  offspring  :   '  He  that 
disbelieveth,  must  needs  be  a  most  obstinate  Saddu- 
cee.'     I  s'pose  it  will  be  of  no  use  to  certify  you  that 
there  was  a  witch  in  our  house ;  yea,  a  black  wench, 
from  a  far-distant  country,  where,  I'm  told,  they  have 
daily  dealings  with  Satan,  as  man  with  man,  in  buy 
ing,  and  selling,  and  trucking  of  goods.     The  afflict 
ed  girls,  when  in  their  sorest  torments,  would  cry  out 
upon   Tituba;   and  there  would  be  the  cruel  jade, 
looking  as  much  amazed  as  if  she  had  never  done 
any  evil  in  her  life.     But  she  had  manifested   her 
ugly  temper  toward  'em  before  this  calamity,  by  di 
vers  times  discovering  'em  in  a  closet  where  jellies 
and  such  like  sweet  trade  was  kept,  of  which  it  was 
very  natural  that  they  should  be  just  tasting  a  little, 
you  know.     They  could  not  so  much  as  hook  a  lump 
of  sugar,  or  a  spunful  of  molasses,  but  they'd  hear 
her  muttering,  '  I'll  .tell  mistress,  for  by-and-by  sug 
ar-pot  and  'lasses-jug  be  empty,  and  she'll  say,  Titu- 
|    ba  steal — Tituba  tief.'     So,  don't   all  these  doings 
plainly  prove  that  she  was  moved  of  old,  by  the  Fa 
ther  of  malice  against  these  poor  children  1     Well, 
after  things  had  gone  on  so  for  a  long,  lengthy  time, 
•    they  come  to  a  detarmination  to  hold  a  court  upon 
|    these  dealings  of  Satan,  and  try  if  the  authority  of  the 
|    town  could  not  cast  him  out,  since  the  godly  ministers 
|    was  not  able.     Oh  !   I  never  shall  forget  that  dread 
ful  day.     Heads  was  as  thick   in  the  Salem  court- 
:    house  as  green  pease  in  a  pod,  but  no  more  noise  nor 
N2 


1  50  THE     Y  A  N  K  R  E. 


shuffling  of  feet  than  if  all  had  been  dead  bodies. 
There,  on  a  high  seat,  sot  Governor  Danforth,  look 
ing  exceeding  solemn,  and  Governor  Stoughton,  with 
eyes  as  sharp  as  a  needle ;  and  there  was  the  Rev 
erend  Mr.  Samuel  Parris,  with  a  pen  to  write  down 
every  word  that  should  be  said.  I  could  not  help 
thinking  of  the  day  of  judgment.  And  when  the 
crowd  was  so  great  that  we  could  hardly  breathe, 
the  distressed  children  was  brought  in.  Close  behind 
them  came  Tituba,  rolling  up  the  whites  of  her  eyes. 
Then  they  fell  into  the  worst  torments  that  I  ever  did 
see.  It  seemed  as  if  the  Wicked  One  put  forth  the 
whole  of  his  power  and  spite  in  the  presence  of  the 
honorable  court.  '  Who  hurts  you  V  said  his  worship, 
the  judge.  'Tituba!  Tituba!'  they  both  screamed  at 
once ;  '  she  afflicts  us  !  She  is  going  to  ride  on  a 
broomstick  now,  and  will  stick  pins  in  us.'  Then 
they  fell  into  such  awful  fits  that  the  honorable  court 
injoined  the  black  witch  to  make  confession  of  her 
wickedness.  And  she  did  confess,  so  far  as  this;  that, 
when  she  was  a  slave  among  the  Spanish,  she  larnt 
how  tojind  out  a  witch.  Arid  was  not  that  just  the 
same  as  to  be  one  herself?  Their  honors  agreed  it 
was  next  akin  to  it,  and  ordered  her  straightway  to 
prison.  After  she  got  there,  such  a  hardened  sin 
ner  was  she,  that  she  denied  having  ever  made  a 
league  with  Satan,  and  said  she  would  not  have  told 
the  court  what  she  did,  only  her  master  had*  most 

*  See  page  5G  of"  Lectures  on  Witchcraft,"  by  the  Reverend  C. 
W.  Upham,  published  at  Boston  in  1931,  and  evincing  much  his 
torical  research. 


THE    YANKEE.  151 


grievously  beaten  her  to  make  her  confess,  and,  catch 
ing  his  eye  in  the  court,  she  was  afeard  of  the 
same  punishment  again,  which  was  surely  no  worse 
than  she  desarved.  And  what  a  maracle  it  was,  that, 
as  soon  as  she  was  taken  away,  the  poor,  afflicted  gals 
sot  up,  and  looked  pleasant  and  satisfied.  But  just 
as  the  crowd-was  beginning  to  clear  out,  the  minis 
ter's  darter  betook  herself  to  swooning  again,  and 
foamed  at  the  mouth  like  a  barrel  of  hop  beer  a  work 
ing.  And,  Cousin  Jehoshaphat,  can  you  imagine  my 
situation  when  I  heard  her  exclaim, '  Jehicl  Wiggles- 
worth  !  Jehicl  Wigglesicorth  !  lie  afflicts  me  /'  Oh  ! 
I  screamed  as  loud  as  she,  and  took  to  my  heels  to 
run  right  out  of  the  court-house,  thinking  I'd  get  home 
like  a  streak  of  lightning  to  father's.  But  they  seized 
hold  of  me,  and  dragged  me  before  the  judges. 
Things  swum  round  me,  and  I  was  afeard  the  floor 
would  cleave  asunder,  and  let  me  into  the  suller.  So 
I  held  fast  on  to  the  sheriffs,  and  they  grabbed  just 
as  tight  hold  of  me  ;  so  I  was  like  a  crutter  shut 
up  in  a  vice.  But  when  the  chief  judge  axed  me,  in 
a  terrible  voice, '  How  do  you  afflict  this  young  maid  V 
I  found  marvelous  strength  to  reply,  '  Please  your 
honor,  I  never  did  offend  her,  in  thought,  word,  or 
deed,  saving  once,  when,  about  six  weeks  ago,  I  s'pose 
I  did  occasion  her  some  sort  of  worriment  by  telling 
her  mother,  who  axed  me  the  question,  that  I  did  see 
her  take  apples  from  a  cart  that  brought  some  to  the 
door  to  sell.  But  then  she  would  not  a  took  'em  if 
we  had  only  a  bought  'em  for  her  to  eat ;  and,  as  she 


152  THE     YANKEE. 

declared  she  never  toucli'd  one  on  'em,  I  do  s'pose 
she  forgot  it.  So,  'cause  my  memory  happened  to 
be  rather  better  than  hers,  she  was  huffy  to  me  for 
two  or  three  weeks,  which  was  no  more  than  natu 
ral,  your  honor ;  and  then  she  seemed  to  get  over 
her  hard  thoughts.  Most  sartingly,  this  is  the  only 
time  in  which  I  ever  crossed  her  since  I  have  abode 
under  her  father's  ruff.' 

"  Then  the  court  ordered  me  to  walk  straight  up 
to  her,  and  look  her  in  the  face  ;  whereat  she  shriek 
ed  so,  and  vowed  that  I  tore  her  vitals,  that  my  heart 
misgive  me,  and  I  begun  to  wonder  whether  I  had 
not,  somehow  or  other,  made  a  league  and  covenant 
with  the  Old  One,  and  known  nothing  about  it.  How 
soever,  I  would  not  confess,  though  they  took  vast 
pains  to  make  me.  Whereupon  they  said  I  was  obsti 
nate,  and  commanded  me  to  jail.  Then  she  come  im 
mediately  out  of  her  fits,  and  was  as  chirk  and  cheery 
as  a  bird  out  of  the  snare  of  the  fowler.  Oh  !  the 
wearisome  days  and  nights  that  passed  over  me  in 
that  house  of  bondage  !  But  plenty  of  good  com 
pany  came  there  afore  midsummer.  We  was  like  a 
bee-hive  at  swarming  time.  From  the  dens  around 
I'd  hear  the  poor  prisoners  bemoaning  themselves, 
and  saying,  '  Oh  !  that  we'd  never  told  such  a  false 
hood  as  to  confess  that  we  was  witches,  and  so  wrong 
ed  our  own  souls.'  And  then  the  crying  of  children 
would  ring  in  my  ears,  for  there  was  some  shut  up 
there  not  over  eight  or  ten  years  old.  Father  and 
mother  got  a  seat  in  neighbor  Lynch's  wagon,  and 


T  H  E     Y  A  N  K  E  E.  1  53 


come  down  to  Salem  jail  to  see  me.  We  was  all 
cast  down  bad  enough,  to  meet  in  such  a  dolesome 
hole.  '  Oh,  Jehiel,'  said  the  old  lady,  '  confess  !  do, 
pray,  confess !  for  they  tell  me  all  that  confess  they 
are  witches  get  set  at  liberty,  and  all  the  rest  are 
hanged  without  marcy,  for  a  stiff-necked  and  hard 
hearted  generation.'  '  Mother,'  says  I, '  would  ye  have 
me  confess  dealings  with  the  Wicked  Sarpent  when 
'taint  true  V  '  Oh  !  I  don't  know,'  says  she  ;  '  but  do 
be  sure  and  save  your  life  ;  there  ain't  nothing  so  bad 
as  death.'  '  Why  now,  mother,'  says  I,  '  I  remember 
you  broke  me  of  telling  lies  when  I  was  a  small 
youngster  ;  I  don't  think  I  shall  begin  again  at  this 
time  of  day.  And  1  guess  there  is  something  as  bad 
as  death,  and  worse  too,  namely,  the  lake  that  burns 
with  fire  and  brimstone.'  '  There,'  said  father,  '  did 
not  I  tell  you  'twould  be  so  I  Jehiel  was  always  a 
good  boy  to  larn  the  New  Testament  by  heart ;  and 
now  ye  see  he's  got  it  in  his  heart.  So  give  over 
tempting  him,  mammy.'" 

"  I  should  have  thought,"  said  Jones,  "  that  Aunt 
Jemima  might  have  given  you  better  advice.  A  pro 
fessor  o'  religion  as  she  is,  too  !  She  must  have  been 
worse  blinded  and  bewitched  than  even  you  was." 

"  I  felt  desp'ate  heavy,"  continued  the  narrator, 
"  when  our  folks  left  me,  and  went  and  curled  down 
in  the  corner  upon  my  heap  of  straw.  But  I  found 
some  comfort  in  a  bit  of  cold  gammon,  and  bread 
and  cheese  they  brought  me,  which  was  enough 
better  than  the  jail  victuals.  The  latter  part  of  Au- 


1  54  T  H  E    Y  A  X  K  E  E. 


gust,  five  of  the  prisoners  was  taken  out  and  hang 
ed.  One  of  them  was  a  grand  minister,  Mr.  George 
Burroughs,  whom  they  condemned  because  he  had 
e'enamost  the  strength  of  a  giant,  which  he  must 
have  got  from  the  powers  of  darkness,  for  he  was 
real  slim  and  slender  made.  But  never  shall  I  for 
get  the  awful  22d  of  September.  Then  we  was  all 
summoned  to  look  out  and  see  eight  of  our  misera 
ble  comrades  marched  to  the  gallows.  First  walked 
Martha  Corey,  paler  than  ashes,  whose  husband  had 
been  pressed  to  death  with  heavy  weights,  because 
he  refused  to  plead  when  he  was  indicted  before  the 
honorable  court.  The  next  was  Mary  Esty,  who 
writ  the  most  beautiful  letter  to  the  judges  and  min 
isters,  declaring  her  innocence.  When  she  took  the 
last  leave  of  her  husband,  and  children,  and  friends, 
she  was  said  to  look  just  as  calm  and  holy  as  an  an 
gel.  Close  behind  come  Goody  Parker,  with  her 
hood  partly  drawn  over  her  face,  and  her  lips  mov 
ing  in  prayer,  and  Ann  Pudeator,  with  the  large 
tears  like  hail-stones  rolling  down  her  face,  and 
Margaret  Scott,  with  the  ruddy  bloom  still  upon  her 
cheeks,  whom  all  the  young  men  had  so  admired 
for  her  beauty.  There  was  Wilmot  Read,  too,  with 
whom  I  had  played  at  school,  and  Goodman  Ward- 
well,  who  was  accused  by  his  own  wife  and  daugh 
ter,  and  a  broken-hearted  man  was  he,  with  his  head 
hanging  down  upon  his  breast.  Last  of  all,  with  a 
fresh,  goodly  countenance,  walked  Molly  Parker, 
stepping  as  light,  as  if  she  knew  she  was  about  to 


THE    YANKEE,  1-55 


rise  above  her  enemies  to  a  heavenly  home.  She  it 
was  that  spake  so  bold  to  the  Reverend  Mr.  Noyes 
when  he  bid  her  confess  the  sin  of  witchcraft.  '  I 
am  no  more  a  witch  than  you  are  a  wizard  ;  and 
if  you  take  away  my  life,  God  will  give  you  blood 
to  drink.'  Oh  !  how  my  heart  sunk  within  me,  and 
cold  chills  run  through  all  my  veins,  to  see  them 
walking  along  with  the  bright  sun,  and  the  clear, 
blue  sky  over  their  heads,  which  they  was  never 
more  to  behold.  And  I  said  to  myself,  Make  haste, 
Jehiel  Wigglesworth,  and  get  out  of  this  strong  hold, 
or  you  will  be  dealt  with  in  like  manner.  In  the 
arter  part  of  that  memorable  day,  there  came  a  pious 
good  minister  to  preach  to  the  poor  prisoners,  and 
exhort  them  to  sarch  into  the  plague  of  their  own 
hearts,  while  yet  it  was  a  time  of  hope.  We,  in  the 
upper  story,  flocked  together  into  the  largest  cell  to 
hear  him.  He  spoke  exceeding  well,  and  had  a 
wonderful  smooth  delivery,  but  he'd  only  got  as  far 
as  sixteenthly,  when  down  fell  Molly  Lacey  in  a  fit, 
a  curious  talking  creature,  who  had  charged  both 
her  mother  and  grand-mother  with  witchcraft,  and 
got  them  both  into  Salem  jail  with  her.  Down  she 
fell,  calling  out  the  name  of  Mr.  Willard,  a  grand 
Boston  minister,  and  the  names  of  some  of  the  high 
est  powers  of  the  state,  saying  they  had  a  commis 
sion  from  the  Prince  of  Darkness  to  afflict  her,  and 
to  burn  her  flesh  from  her  bones  with  fire.  Great 
was  the  stir  indeed,  and  when  I  see  the  jailer  was 
as  busy  as  the  rest  on  'em,  I  watched  my  chance, 


156  T  H  E    Y  A  N  K  E  E. 


and  glided  down  stairs  like  a  sperrit.  But  when  I 
reached  the  second  story,  the  door  was  locked  so 
tight  that  the  Old  Dragon  himself  could  not  start  it. 
I  made  for  the  window  through  which  we  had  look 
ed  at  the  poor,  condemned  people  in  the  morning, 
and  lo !  it  was  left  a  leetle  open,  to  admit  a  morsel 
of  air.  '  Jehiel  Wiggles  worth  !'  said  I,  'cast  your 
self  down  from  thence.  Ain't  it  as  well  to  grind  your 
bones  to  powder,  as  to  have  your  neck  stretched  by 
these  Philistines?'  So  I  snatched  up  the  minister's 
broad-brimmed  hat,  which  had  been  left  on  the  stair 
way,  and  thrust  it  on  my  head, .thinking  I  would  not 
go  into  etarnity  with  a  broken. skull,  if  I  could  help 
it.  But  what  do  you  think  appeared  just  at  that  crit 
ical  minute  1  A  huge  load  of  hay  passing  directly 
under,  and  nobody  in  sight.  As  quick  as  thought, 
I  plumped  down  upon  it,  and  kivered  myself  up  in 
the  cutest  manner.  The  boy  who  driv  was  wan 
dering  along  in  front,  and  gazing  around,  but  hear 
ing  a  strange  sound  as  I  plunged  down,  gave  his 
cattle  a  stroke  or  two,  and  said,  'Gee  up,  Dimoncl. 
Haw!  old  crooked-horn!  what  d'ye  start  for]  D'ye 
see  any  o'  the  Salem  witches  V  So  whistling,  he 
went  on  with  his  load,  while  the  sweet  smell  of  the 
new-mown  hay,  and  the  fresh  air  that  I  had  not 
breathed  so  long,  and  the  thought  that  I  had  got  out 
of  that  dismal  den  of  lamentation,  though  but  for 
one  half  hour,  even  if  they  clawed  me  back  the  next, 
made  both  my  heart  and  head  so  lightish,  that  I 
could  scarcely  keep  from  outright  singing  and  shout- 


Til  E    Y  A  \K  BE. 


ing.  But  I  took  good  care  to  hold  the  minister's 
hat  well  under  the  hay,  lest  some  of  his  parishioners 
might  know  it  and  hunt  me  out.  I  obsarved  the 
boy  arter  a  while  to  be  looking  round,  and  calling 
'  Jehu,  Jehu.'  Thinks  I  to  myself,  Jehu  and  Je- 
hiel  are  pretty  much  alike.  So  when  we'd  got  past 
the  house  where  I  used  to  live,  I  takes  courage,  and 
says,  '  What  d'ye  want?  Don't  ye  see  that  I'm  up 
here  on  the  hay  V  '  On  the  hay,'  said  he.  '  How 
on  airth  did  ye  get  there,  and  I  not  know  it  ]' 
'  Why  forty  people  might  'a  got  up  and  down,  and 
stole  half  the  hay  too,  while  you  have  been  lazing 
and  gazing  at  every  thing  and  every  body.'  .'You 
hain't  done  all  your  arrants,  have  ye  V  '  Yes,  in 
deed,  long  ago.'  '  Well,  then,  get  down  and  drive 
the  team.  Don't  you  know  master  said,  '.'Tim,  you 
must  drive  till  you  get  through  the  thickest  of  Salem 
town,  arid  when  Jehu  has  done  my  business  there, 
he  shall  see  to  the  cattle."  So  make  haste  and  come 
down,  for  I'm  as  tired  as  a  dog.'  '  And  don't  you 
think  I'm  tired  too,  trotting  through  all  the  lanes 
like  a  camel,  while  you've  been  a  loungin'  along, 
more  asleep  than  awake  !'  '  I  declare  you  shall  get 
down  now,  Jehu,'  said  the  lad,  beginning  to  climb 
up  the  load.  '  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Tim,'  said  I, 
'  the  great  pitchfork  is  here,  and  if  you  come  up  be 
fore  I  give  you  leave,  I'll  catch  you  on  it.  But  if 
you'll  only  drive  fast  and  good  till  we  get  out  of 
sight  of  them  housen  yonder,  I've  got  a  clever  cling 
stone  peach  here  that  I'll  give  you,  and  you  shall 
O 


158  THE    YANKEE. 


ride  all  the  rest  of  the  way.'  '  Oh  yes,  to  be  sure, 
out  of  sight  of  them  housen  !  Why,  that  ain't  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  place  where  the  man 
lives  that's  bought  the  rowin.  You're  a  real  cross- 
grained  dog,  to  make  me  do  more  than  master  says.' 
So  he  walked  along,  muttering.  When  we'd  got 
about  through  the  thick-settled  part,  I  called  out 
suddenly,  '  Oh  !  what  a  beast  I  am  to  forget.  Hun, 
Tim,  run,  as  fast  as  ever  you  can, to  Squire  Larkin's 
store,  at  the  second  corner,  and  bring  a  small  bottle 
of  sperrit  I  left  standing  on  the  horse-block.  I'm 
awful  afeard  somebody  has  drinked  it  up  afore  now. 
Come,  gallop,  that's  a  good  fellow,  and  if  you  hap 
pen  to  take  a  small  swig  out  on't,  I  won't  tell  mas 
ter.'  Off  he  set  like  a  catamount ;  and  no  sooner 
was  he  out  of  sight  than  I  was  down,  and  a  running 
faster  than  he,  for  I  was  dumb  afeard  that  he'd  meet 
the  real  Jehu,  and  both  together  take  arter  me,  like 
Jehu  of  old  pursuing  the  false  prophets.  I  struck 
into  the  woods  and  hid  till  dark,  and  then  took 
the  road  and  traveled  right  manfully  all  night.  It 
made  me  down-hearted  to  think  I  could  not  go  to 
father's,  for  I  know'd  well  that  was  the  fust  place 
they'd  naturally  sarch  in  for  me,  and  I  seemed  to  be 
in  a  worse  fix  than  the  returning  prodigal.  While 
I  was  doubting  where  to  shape  my  course,  I  remem 
bered  that  Cousin  Jehoshaphat  Jones,  who  had  al 
ways  been  a  true  frind,  had  hired  himself  out  to 
some  Huguenot  bodies,  who  lived  in  an  out-of-the- 
way  sort  of  a  hole,  and  thought  if  I  could  once  get 


T  H  E    Y  A  X  K  E  E.  1 59 


there,  I  might  stand  a  good  chance  to  be  hid,  in  such 
an  outlandish  region.  So  I  turned  my  steps  hither- 
ward.  But  oh  !  the  torment  of  hunger  that  I've  en 
dured.  Sometimes  I  have  thought  I  could  e'enamost 
gnaw  a  sheep's  head  off,  and  eat  it  with  all  the  wool 
on.  But  I  have  not  been  altogether  easy  in  my  mind, 
for  fear  the  bears  should  eat  me,  when  I  dropped 
asleep  in  the  woods,  or  some  ugly  rattlesnake  give 
me  a  mortal  bite,  or  the  beastly  Indians  start  out 
from  behind  some  bush  and  scalp  me.  Yet  have  I 
been  led  through  the  wilderness  in  safety,  through 
help  from  above.  I  hope  the  precious  minister  that 
I  left  preaching  in  the  Salem  jail  will  forgive  me  for 
hooking  his  hat.  Its  broad  brim' has  been  of  vast 
use  to  me  to  dip  up  water  from  brooks,  and  fend  off 
the  rain  and  musquetoes.  How  real  thankful  I  was, 
at  last,  to  see  a  light  glimmering  here,  and,  looking 
through  the  cracks  of  the  corn-house,  to  be  sure  that 
it  was  indeed  Cousin  Jehoshaphat,  by  the  side  of  a 
great  pile  of  ripe  ears.  I  doubt  whether  the  poor 
critturs  who  was  a  drowning  in  the  flood-time  could 
have  been  much  joyfuller  to  have  set  their  feet  in 
Noah's  ark,  than  I  to  behold  my  own  blood-relation, 
and  stretch  my  weary  limbs  on  this  floor." 

When  the  narrator  closed  his  recital,  all  his  audi 
tors  expressed  sympathy  for  his  troubles,  and  glad 
ness  at  his  deliverance,  and  hastened  to  provide  him 
with  fitting  refreshment,  and  a  place  of  repose.  It 
was  afterward  decided  to  offer  him  refuge  among 
them,  with  such  compensation  for  his  services  as 


1  GO  T  H  E    Y  A  N  K  E  E. 


should  be  deemed  satisfactory,  until  "  the  indignation 
might  be  overpast."  For  some  time  after  this  mis 
erable  delusion  had  subsided,  he  remained  among 
the  Huguenot  colonists,  grateful  for  their  kindness, 
and  pleased  with  their  gentle  manners  and  reasona 
ble  requisitions. 

Afterward,  returning  to  his  native  village,  he  set 
tled  for  life  in  those  peaceful  agricultural  employ 
ments  to  which  his  ancestors  had  been  inured.  He 
dwelt  in  rural  comfort  and  happiness,  and  enjoyed 
the  respect  of  his  neighbors  and  friends.  Some  lin 
gering  of  superstition  continued  through  life  to  min 
gle  with  that  shrewdness  and  simplicity  which  so  oft 
en  mark  the  Yankee  character ;  and  when,  in  long 
winter  evenings,  beside  a  blazing  fire,  he  recount 
ed  to  his  astonished  children  the  evils  to  which  he 
had  been  exposed,  and  from  which  he  was  so  re 
markably  rescued,  he  never  failed  to  bespeak  their 
gratitude  that  they  had  never  been  tempted  to  the 
sore  sin  of  witchcraft,  or  brought  tinder  the  visible 
and  fearful  dominion  of  the  great  Wicked  One. 


LEGEND  OF  PENNSYLVANIA. 


11 


'  On  the  rushing  tide  of  life, 

Ever  full,  yet  ever  shifting, 
Blinded  with  the  smoke  of  strife, 

We,  like  hattle-ships,  are  drifting  ; 
While  the  startling  thunders  boom, 

And  wreck'd  barques  go  down  forever, 
In  the  far  horizon  loom 

Hopes  that  urge  to  new  endeavors." 

LONGFELLOW. 


A    LEGEND  OF    PENNSYLVANIA. 


"  PLEASE,  tell  me  a  tale  of  the  olden  time,"  said 
a  fair-haired  girl,  seating  herself  at  her  mother's  feet, 
and  playfully  seizing  the  knitting-needles  so  as  to 
suspend  their  operations. 

Perceiving  how  fond  was  the  glance  that  rested 
upon  her,  she  added,  "  Dear  mother,  you  seldom  men 
tion  brother  Edmund.  I  do  so  wish  to  hear  more 
about  him.  Pray  speak  of  him  now,  in  this  sweet, 
summer  twilight,  an  hour  so  fit  for  all  tender  and 
holy  thought." 

"  Do  you  not  remember  your  brother,  Malvina  ? 
you  were  five  years  old  when  he  was  taken  from  us." 

"  I  remember  him,  mother,  as  we  recall  a  vision, 
beautiful  and  indistinct.  Albert  and  myself  used  to 
play  all  day  long  among  the  wild  flowers,  forcing 
the  smooth  brook  to  fall  noisily  over  the  pebbles  that 
we  placed  in  its  channel.  When  he  came  to  us, 
there  was  a  smile  on  his  brow,  like  what  we  sup 
posed  might  be  the  smile  of  an  angel ;  but  he  never 
laughed  with  us.  He  drew  us  to  his  knee,  and  told 
us  that  God  was  in  every  flower,  and  in  the  voice  of 
the  tuneful  brooks,  and  that  he  painted  the  wing  of 
the  butterfly.  We  loved  to  hear  his  sweet  tones,  so 
like  a  flute,  but  we  wished  that  he  would  laugh  as 


104  A    LEGEND    OF    PENNSYLVANIA. 

we  did.  He  seemed  so  perfect,  that  something  like 
awe  mingled  with  our  love.  We  almost  feared  him, 
for  his  unlikeness  to  ourselves.  But  when  it  thun 
dered,  and  I  quaked  with  dread,  I  drew  closer  to 
him,  and  took  hold  of  the  skirts  of  his  coat,  for  I  be 
lieved  that  no  evil  could  touch  one  so  good,  and  that 
through  his  virtues  I  should  be  saved. 

"  Once  I  loved  him  better  than  ever.  It  was  when 
he  took  me  under  those  tall  elms,  in  a  clear  and  quiet 
evening,  and  pointed  out  the  stars.  He  told  me  some 
of  their  names,  and  that  they  were  full  of  inhabitants, 
over  whom  God  ruled  in  his  goodness.  Then  I 
clasped  his  neck  close,  and  wept  violently,  through 
my  very  love  and  apprehension  that  he  would  die, 
and  go  to  those  bright  orbs,  and  I,  for  my  faults,  be 
left  behind,  and  never  be  found  worthy  to  meet  him 
there.  And  I  well  remember  a  strange  agony  at  be 
ing  told  he  was  dead,  and  weeping  at  his  funeral  till 
there  were  no  more  tears." 

The  mother  paused,  a^  if  to  gather  strength  for  a 
narrative  of  pain. 

"  It  is  proper,  my  daughter,  that  our  domestic  his 
tory  should  be  fully  known  to  you.  Upon  some  of 
its  events  I  have  forborne  to  dwell,  lest  they  might 
sadden  your  young  heart.  Perhaps  I  have  been  too 
reluctant  to  open  the  sources  of  grief;  I  have  kept 
them  sacred  to  Him  who  can  alone  heal  the  heart's 
troubled  fountains.  Those  bitter  waters  have  so  long 
subsided,  that  I  may  yet  pour  from  their  once  turbid 
dregs  a  pure-draught  into  your  crystal  cup. 


A    LEGEND    OF    PENNSYLVANIA.  165 

"  You  know,  dearest,  that  the  birth-place  of  your 
parents  was  in  New  England.  Ten  years  have  not 
yet  elapsed  since  our  removal  to  Pennsylvania. 
Then,  with  two  hundred  emigrants  from  Connecti 
cut,  we  became  inhabitants  of  this  fair  Vale  of  Wyo 
ming.  Never  shall  I  forget  its  beauty  as  we  first  ap 
proached  it.  Weary  with  the  toils  of  our  journey, 
it  burst  upon  our  eyes  from  the  brow  of  yonder 
mountain,  as  the  promised  land  stood  forth  in  its  robe 
of  brightness  to  greet  the  tribes  long  wandeiing  in 
the  desert.  Early  spring  had  just  tinted  the  green 
hills,  and  the  slumbering  dells  lay  in  silent  beauty. 
The  Susquehanna  rolled  on  in  pride,  as  if  claiming 
admiration  for  its  glorious  domain.  The  young  trees, 
and  the  sweet  birds,  and  the  incense  of  early  flowers 
welcomed  us  to  our  goodly  land.  We  blessed  God 
that  we  were  not  doomed,  like  the  prophet  from 
Nebo,  only  to  behold  it  with  our  eyes,  but  not  to  pass 
over  and  take  possession. 

"  You,  Malvina,  had  numbered  your  fifth  birth-day, 
and  your  brother  Albert  was  seven  years  old.  At 
the  first  view  from  the  mountain-top,  you  both  clap 
ped  your  hands,  and  shouted  with  a  pleasure  whose 
rich  elements  you  could  not  fully  comprehend.  There 
was  a  gentle  being  near  us  who  gazed  deeply  on  the 
scene  of  enchantment,  but  spoke  not — your  sister 
Ellen.  She  pressed  close  and  closer  to  my  side,  her 
breathing  became  a  quick  sob,  and  tears  of  rapture 
coursed  down  her  cheeks.  The  sentiment  of  beauty 
lay  deep  in  her  soul,  and  this  Eden  landscape  thrilled 


166  A    LEGEND    OF    PENNSYLVANIA. 

it  as  a  lyre,  till  the  harmony  overcame  her.  Twelve 
winters  only  had  passed  over  her,  but  her  mind  par 
took  of  the  maturity  of  womanhood.  She  drooped 
when  we  first  left  the  banks  of  our  own  Connecticut. 
Her  affections  were  strongly  clasped  around  her 
young  schoolmates,  and  the  pleasant  halls  where  she 
had  gathered  knowledge  in  their  company.  In  un 
twining  them,  some  of  the  tendrils  were  broken  ;  but 
we  thought  they  would  soon  embrace  other  props. 
We  understood  not  that  our  frail  flower  could  not 
bear  to  be  transplanted,  that  it  was  to  bloom  only  in 
heaven.  We  were  deceived  by  the  brightness  daily 
glowing  upon  her  cheek ;  we  could  not  believe  that 
it  was  the  flattering  hectic  planting  there  its  funeral 
rose." 

"  Mother,  mother,  were  there  no  physicians  in  the 
valley  for  my  sweet  sister?" 

"  They,  like  us,  were  lulled  into  false  security. 
One  of  them  did,  indeed,  say  that  it  was  the  '  em 
igrant's  consumption  that  she  pined  with,  a  consump 
tion  of  the  heart.'  But  she  uttered  no  complaint ; 
she  seemed  to  have  no  pain.  She  sighed  continually 
for  her  school — for  her  dear  companions — for  her 
first  home — for  the  Church  of  God.  Her  father  con 
structed  for  her  a  rude  arbor,  where  the  vines  clus 
tered  and  made  a  thick  shade.  There  she  loved  to 
retire  on  a  summer's  day  with  her  books,  and  around 
it  she  planted  the  flower-seeds  that  she  brought  from 
her  own  little  garden.  Especially  she  delighted  there 
to  spend  her  Sabbath  hours,  and  I  could  see  that  she 


A    LEGEND    OF    PENNSYLVANIA.  107 

was  best  pleased  to  meditate  without  interruption. 
One  cloudless  Sunday  morning  she,  as  usual,  resort 
ed  thither.  At  parting,  I  recollected  she  threw  back 
her  bright  golden  hair,  and  smiling,  said,  '  Moth 
er,  I  am  going  to  my  home,  to  Connecticut,'  for  so 
she  called  that  favorite  recess.  But  to  her  little  broth 
er,  whom  she  met  and  kissed,  her  words  were  more 
ominous  :  '  Albert,  be  a  good  boy  ;  our  dear  Savior 
says  I  may  come  home  to-day.'  I  observed  that  she 
walked  slowly,  but  I  was  not  aware  of  her  increas 
ing  weakness.  Soon  after  I  heard  her  sing  sweetly 
and  clearly  the  hymn  that  she  best  loved.  It  was  in 
my  heart  to  go  and  sing  with  her,  but  household  oc 
cupations-  hindered  me.  When  I  afterward  went, 
she  was  reclining  against  a  turf  bank,  as  if  in  slum 
ber.  On  the  page  of  her  open  book  lay  a  few  violets. 
I  called, '  Ellen,  love  ;'  she  made  no  reply  :  I  touched 
her  slightly-clasped  hands  ;  they  were  as  marble.  She 
had  found  her  home,  and  there  was  no  returning." 

"  Dear,  blessed  sister !  when  I  have  visited  her 
grave,  I  have  ever  wished  that  some  memorial  might 
mark  the  spot.  Let  us  raise  there  a  simple  stone, 
with  the  inscription,  '  He  calleth  me  home;'  or  that 
line  from  your  favorite  poet,  '  Her  spirit  was  exhaled 
and  went  to  Heaven.'  " 

"  Still  gird  your  heart,  my  dearest ;  other  woes 
remain  to  be  told.  As  I  thus  point  them  out  to  you, 
I  seem  once  more  to  move  among  them,  and  to  bear 
their  impress.  You  know  that  this  Valley  of  Wyo 
ming  has  been  emphatically  debatable  ground.  The 


168        A  LEGEND  OF  PENNSYLVANIA. 

Pennsylvanians  and  the  Connecticut  colonists,  author 
ized  by  their  respective  state  governments,  maintain 
ed  opposing  claims.  Contention  soon  took  the  form 
of  border  warfare.  Your  father  bore  a  conspicuous 
part  in  those  times  of  danger.  He  was  one  of  those 
forty  dauntless  men  from  Connecticut  who  entered 
this  valley  in  the  winter  of  1769,  and  made  prepara 
tions  for  the  present  colony.  With  them,  his  family 
removed  the  succeeding  spring.  Those  settlers  were 
known  by  the  name  of  the  Susquehanna  Company, 
and  came  under  the  auspices  of  a  council  convened 
at  Hartford,  and  of  the  excellent  Governor  Trumbull, 
who  surely  would  have  sanctioned  nothing  illegal 
or  unjust.  But  the  permanent  establishment  which 
we  contemplated,  was  dpomed  to  lay  its  earliest  foun 
dation  in  blood.  My  anxiety  for  the  safety  of  your 
father  it  is  impossible  to  describe.  The  activity  and 
fearlessness  of  his  character  made  him  indifferent  to 
peril,  and  obnoxious  to  his  foes.  Civil  dissensions 
are  ever  more  relentless  and  tenacious  than  foreign 
war,  as  diseases  of  the  heart  are  more  obstinate  and 
difficult  of  medication  than  those  of  the  extremities." 

"  The  history  of  those  days  of  discord  is  but  too 
familiar  to  me,  dear  mother.  Will  it  please  you, 
rather,  to  tell  me  of  my  brother  Edmund  ]" 

"  He  was  my  first-born  and  my  idol.  The  loss  of 
an  infant  son,  three  years  younger  than  himself,  bound 
him  still  more  closely  to  my  heart.  I  made  him  my 
constant  companion,  and  early  and  continually  infus 
ed  into  him  that  knowledge  which  softens  and  beau- 


A    LEGEND    OF    PENNSYLVANIA.  169 

tifies  the  spirit.  His  love  of  learning  was  too  obvi 
ous  and  overpowering  to  be  counteracted,  and  we 
left  him  in  the  collegiate  institution  of  his  native  State. 
His  first  visit  was  in  the  long  autumn  vacation,  and 
he  moved  among  us  like  a  spirit  of  light  and  peace. 
He  found  me  too  deeply  nursing  the  seeds  of  grief, 
and  ever,  when  we  were  alone,  he  spoke  to  me  with 
such  a  benignant  smile  of  his  beautiful  sister  and  her 
happy  home,  that  I  was  comforted.  He  said  that 
Christians  erred  who  invested  death  with  gloom  ; 
that  they  were  thus  untrue  to  their  faith,  which  was 
able  to  disrobe  it  of  terror,  and  to  their  Savior,  who 
had  vanquished  it  for  them.  He  said,  would  they 
but  lay,  without  repining,  their  friends  in  the  grave, 
and  go  thither  peacefully  themselves,  as  to  a  pillow 
of  repose,  worldlings  might  thus  be  won  to  seek  that 
strength  which  the  world  is  unable  to  give.  He 
wondered  how  we  could  ungratefully  withhold  from 
Him,  who  for  our  sakes  was  '  contented  to  be  cruci 
fied,'  a  suffrage  which,  more  than  all  others,  would 
establish,  in  the  opinions  of  men,  the  excellence  of 
His  Gospel.  And  when  he  thus  reasoned,  in  a  low, 
flute-like  tone,  and  smiled  on  me  as  a  seraph,  who 
had  felt  no  stain  of  earth,  I  blessed  God  for  the  pi 
ety  which,  in  his  soul,  had  so  grown  and  flourished, 
that  mine,  as  a  dwarf  plant,  gladly  drank  the  dewy 
superflux  that  was  shaken  from  its  branches.  His 
morning  and  nightly  supplication  was,  that  peace 
might  again  dwell  in  our  valley,  and  his  father  no 
longer  be  a  man  of  war.  There  came  an  interval  of 
P 


170          A    LEGEND    OF    PENNSYLVANIA. 

quietness,  and  then  our  happiness  seemed  too  exquis 
ite  for  earth. 

"  One  evening  I  sat  where  we  now  sit,  waiting  the 
return  of  my  adored  one  from  his  accustomed  walk. 
I  was  finishing  for  him  the  same  kind  of  stocking 
which  I  am  now  knitting  for  Albert,  and  which  you 
just  now  beguiled  from  my  hand,  that  I  might  spread 
out  to  you  this  '  scroll  of  mourning  and  wo.'  I  thought 
with  exultation  of  him  for  whose  comfort  my  hands 
were  employed.  His  bright  picture,  expanded  by 
maternal  love,  seemed  to  enwrap  and  fold  over  my 
whole  soul. 

"  Suddenly,  upon  our  grounds,  was  the  report  of 
fire-arms.  I  hastened  to  the  brow  of  the  hillock. 
There  he  lay,  stretched  at  its  base.  His  eyes  were 
fixed.  The  last  convulsion  had  passed.  Blood 
poured  from  his  mouth  and  breast,  and  covered  the 
book  on  which,  but  a  moment  before,  he  had  medi 
tated — a  silent  student ;  how  soon  to  be  made  a  se 
raphic  one  !  I  was  spared  the  sight  of  the  death-strug 
gle  ;  but  a  horrible  distortion  of  features  marked  this 
violent  rupture  of  flesh  from  spirit. 

"  The  assassin  had  fled.  The  deed  could  never  be 
traced  to  its  actor.  I  knew  that  the  doings  of  war 
were  fiend-like,  but  had  never  imagined  a  crime  like 
this. 

"  Your  father  bore  to  this  very  bed  the  lifeless  re 
mains  of  what  had  been  his  trust  and  glory,  perhaps 
even  more  than  God.  A  strife  of  phrensied  anger 
first  shook  him,  and  then  that  fearful  anguish  which 


A    LEGEND    OF    PENNSYLVANIA.  171 

the  strong  man  feels  when  his  pride  is  extinguished 
forever.  Woman  can  scarcely  fathom  a  grief  like 
that.  The  willow  may  bow,  and  become  prostrate 
as  a  wreck  before  the  blast,  yet  be  raised  up  again. 
It  may  live  for  years  with  a  pierced  heart,  and  even 
put  forth  green  branches  ;  but  what  can  it  know  of 
the  desolation  of  the  scathed  oak,  lifting  up  naught 
but  a  blackened  beacon  to  the  traveler,  till  it  mould 
ers  into  dust  ? 

"  From  the  stupor  that  succeeded  this  paroxysm  it 
was  impossible  to  arouse  him.  The  powerful  mind 
which  had  ruled  others,  became  incapable  to  rule  it 
self.  Thenceforth,  he  walked  as  the  dead  among  the 
living.  Reason  dissolved  fellowship  with  memory, 
and  thought  with  speech.  He  scarcely  uttered  a  word 
during  the  dreadful  years  that  were  appointed  him, 
save  the  name  of  his  murdered  first-born." 

"  Mother,  I  remember  him  well,  and  always  with 
fear,  for  my  playmates  told  me  he  was  a  madman,  and 
that  madmen  devoured  children.  His  large  black 
eyes  often  fastened  strangely  upon  me,  and  I  sought 
to  hide  myself  from  him.  But  you  bade  me  carry  him 
food,  and  gather  flowers  for  him,  and  call  him  dear 
father,  and  it  seemed  to  soothe  him.  Sometimes  I 
hoped  he  would  speak  to  me  ;  but  then  I  heard  him 
repeating  to  himself,  hoarsely  and  horribly,  '  Ed 
mund's  blood — yes,  Ed?nund's  Mood  /'  and  that  low 
tone,  blood,  blood  !  haunted  me  both  when  I  lay  down 
and  when  I  rose  up.  I  heard  it  in  the  sullen  winds 
that  betoken  storms,  and  when  I  stopped  my  ears  it 


172  A    LEGEND    OF    PENNSYLVANIA. 

was  louder  still.  But  in  his  last  sickness,  when  he 
became  weak  as  a  child,  and  you  used  to  lead  him 
out  into  the  sunbeam,  or  under  the  sweet  shade  of  the 
flowering  trees,  the  voice  was  tender  and  plaintive 
with  which  he  so  often  moaned,  '  Edmund,  dear  Ed 
mund  /' " 

Tears  gushed  from  the  mother's  eyes,  as,  embra 
cing  her  daughter,  she  said,  "  It  was  this  affliction  that 
humbled  me.  My  other  sorrows  wounded  and 
shocked,  without  subduing  my  spirit.  I  strove  to 
bow  to  the  All-wise,  but  I  wondered  why  I,  more  than 
others,  should  be  thus  bereaved.  I  believed  myself 
to  be  a  Christian,  yet  I  thought  to  nourish  my  sorrow, 
like  the  anger  of  the  prophet  for  his  gourd,  even  unto 
death.  But  the  humiliation  of  the  mind,  in  whose 
strength  I  had  garnered  up  my  own,  taught  me  true 
submission.  The  tear  with  which  I  first  acknowl 
edged  that  it  was  good  for  me  to  have  been  afflicted, 
marked  an  era  in  my  soul's  history  never  to  be  for 
gotten.  Years  of  reflection  have  since  confirmed  the 
precept,  that  '  whatever  God  wills,  we  may  be  sure 
is  best  for  us  ;  we  can  not  be  sure  of  what  we  will  for 
ourselves.'  " 

"  Ah  !  was  it  thus  you  gained  that  meek  expres 
sion  of  countenance  which  I  so  love  ]  and  which, 
more  plainly  than  words,  says,  '  Thy  will  be  done.'' 
I  have  sometimes  watched  you  in  your  slumbers, 
and  even  then,  those  placid  features  are  a  com 
ment  on  our  Redeemer's  petition,  '  Not  my  will,  but 
Thine:  " 


A    LEGEND    OF    PENNSYLVANIA.  173 

"  Malvina,  where  can  your  brother  Albert  be  1 
He  is  not  wont  thus  to  linger  at  the  village." 

The  time  occupied  in  sad  narration  had,  indeed, 
fled  unconsciously  away.  The  rising  moon,  silvering 
the  tree-tops,  gave  silent  witness  of  the  midnight  hour. 
They  waited  still  longer  in  anxiety,  and  then  reluct 
antly  retired  to  rest. 

But  the  mother  slept  not.  She  ruminated  painfully 
on  her  absent  son.  He  was  ardent  in  his  tempera 
ment.  She  feared  that  he  might  have  been  beguiled 
by  unstable  companions  ;  and  the  prayer  that  only 
widowed  mothers  breathe  for  an  endangered  child, 
rose  up,  earnest  and  tremulous,  that  he  might  be 
kept  from  temptation  and  delivered  from  evil. 

Malvina,  in  her  sleep,  was  beautiful.  Her  high, 
polished  forehead  was  partially  veiled  by  curls  of  soft 
brown  hair,  and  under  the  slightly  flushed  cheek  lay 
a  delicate  hand,  as  in  the  helpless  innocence  of  child 
hood.  As  the  maternal  eye  gazed  on  her  with  de 
light,  her  repose  became  disturbed  and  broken.  The 
ruby  lips  quivered,  and  tears  oozed  forth  from  under 
her  long  lashes.  Such  hold  had  grief  on  her  spirit 
even  in  dreams. 

Morning  had  not  far  advanced  when  a  female  was 
seen  approaching.  She  was  recognized  as  one  of  the 
inhabitants  of  the  village,  whose  time  was  principally 
devoted  to  the  transmission  of  news.  More  distin 
guished  for  volubility  than  benevolence,  it  was  ob 
served  that  her  activity  in  imparting  the  intelligence 
which  she  collected,  bore  proportion  to  its  bitter 
P  2 


174  A    LEGEND    QF    PENNSYLVANIA. 

ingredients.  On  the  present  occasion  her  speed 
was  eminently  accelerated.  Her  feet,  if  they  made 
not  haste  to  do  evil,  were  at  least  swift  to  con 
vey  it.  To  the  question  respecting  the  absent  one, 
the  reply  of  Miss  Polly  Pierce  was  rapidly  ren 
dered. 

"  Your  Albert  ?  Why,  where  should  he  be,  but 
with  the  sogers  that  marched  out  of  Wilkesbarre 
before  the  dawn  of  day  to  '  Forty  Fort'  to  fight  the 
British  and  Indians.  Have  you  not  heard  how  they 
have  come  down  from  Niagara,  more  than  a  thousand 
strong,  and  took  Wintermoot  Fort  just  as  easy  as 
you'd  smash  an  egg-shell  1  I  believe  you  never 
would  hear  the  leastest  news  in  the  world,  if  I  did 
not  take  the  pains  to  find  your  queer  out-of-the-way 
place,  and  tell  you." 

Observing  the  mute  expression  of  anguish  with 
which  the  mother  clasped  her  hands  and  raised  her 
eyes  to  heaven,  she  exclaimed, 

"  Why,  the  land's  sake  !  Miss  Dorrance,  your  chil 
dren  are  no  better  flesh  and  blood  than  other  folks,  I 
suppose.  I  am  sure  Albert,  being  sixteen,  is  fully 
able-bodied  enough  to  do  military  duty.  You  did 
not  live  in  our  valley  when  Ogden's  block-house  was 
besieged  and  taken.  The  firing,  and  all  the  doings 
there,  was  as  grand  as  any  we  read  about  in  history 
books  ;  and  I  dare  say  it  will  be  grander  to-day, 
for  at  the  head  of  the  Wyoming  people  are  Colo 
nel  Butler,  and  Colonel  Denison,  both  as  bold  as 
lions." 


A    LEGEND    OF    PENNSYLVANIA.  175 

"  Do  you  know  any  thing  of  the  plan  of  the  expe 
dition  ]"  inquired  the  mother,  faintly. 

"  Don't  be  so  afeard,  Miss  Dorrance.  I  guess 
Colonel  Zebulon  Butler  knows  what  he  is  about. 
There  is  no  wiser  nor  better  man  than  he.  But  the 
expedition,  as  you  call  it,  was  got  up  something  in  a 
hurry,  I  do  expect.  It  was  not  worth  while  to  wait  to 
mince  matters,  when  Brandt,  the  fierce  chief  who  tom 
ahawks  every  body,  had  floated  down  the  Susque- 
hanna  with  a  power  of  painted  Indians.  What  way 
was  there  but  to  go  out  and  meet  them,  and  kill  them, 
before  they  could  get  a  chance  to  kill  us  1  Why,  I 
am  something  of  a  soger  myself.  I  remember  as  far 
back  as  the  old  '63  war  with  the  Yankees.  I  was 
right  glad  when  they  were  driven  off,  and  their  wom 
en,  so  mighty  delicate,  who  held  their  heads  up  so 
much  higher  than  the  Pennsylvany  people,  had  to 
wade  through  swamps,  and  travel  sixty  miles  throagh 
an  awful  wilderness.  I  never  liked  them  Connecti 
cut  settlers ;  they  felt  so  wonderful  grand  with  their 
laming,  and  made  such  a  fuss  about  teaching  the 
children  to  read  and  write.  But  I  beg  pardon,  I  for 
got  that  you  belonged  to  that  class  of  bodies  your 
self. 

"  Well,  I  hope  your  boy  will  get  back  again  safe 
and  sound.  Why,  you  are  turning  as  white  as  a 
sheet !  Now  what's  the  use  of  making  yourself  sick, 
Miss  Dorrance  1  Here,  Malvey  !  Malvine  !  what's 
your  name  ]  run  for  some  water,  and  throw  it  in  your 
mother's  face.  I  must  get  away,  farther  up  into 


170  A    LEGEND    OF    PENNSYLVANIA. 

the  woods,  to  Goody  Follet's,  whose  husband  and  two 
sons  have  gone  to  the  battle,  and  who,  I  suppose, 
knows  no  more  about  the  news  than  you  did,  till  I 
took  the  pains  to  come  and  tell  you." 

Hereupon  Miss  Polly  Pierce  prepared  to  take  her 
departure ;  yet,  pausing  on  the  threshold,  added  a 
few  words : 

"  You  know  to-morrow  is  the  4th  of  July,  the  sec 
ond  anniversary  of  what  they  call  their  Declaration 
of  Independence.  I  always  thought  it  was  a  wicked 
thing.  I  do  not  believe  it  will  come  to  any  good. 
Who  can  say  but  the  coming  of  these  British  and  In 
dians  is  a  judgment  upon  that  very  account]  I  ap 
prove  of  wars,  to  be  sure,  but  then  the  fighting  ought 
to  be  between  equals,  and  not  against  them  that  the 
Lord  has  anointed  and  set  over  us.  Brandt  would 
be  a  terrible  scourge  to  us  if  they  should  get  the  vic 
tory.  He  knows  every  cross-path  and  lurking-hole 
in  the  land.  He  calls  himself  the  son  of  Sir  William 
Johnson,  notwithstanding  he  is  an  Indian.  They  sav 
he  has  a  great  cave  just  on  the  edge  of  Canada  line, 
hung  thick"  round  with  scalps,  all  fresh  and  green, 
that  he  peeled  off  with  his  own  hands  from  the  heads 
of  young  men  and  women." 

The  lonely  mother  and  daughter  strove  to  comfort 
each  other,  and  to  stay  their  minds  upon  God.  It 
was  not  appointed  that  they  should  long  endure  the 
agony  of  suspense.  That  day,  the  massacre  and  con 
flagration  of  Wyoming  darkened  the  annals  of  our 
land.  The  flight  of  the  villagers  from  their  burning 


A    LEGEND    OF    PENNSYLVANIA.  177 

dwellings ;  their  temporary  concealment  in  the  mount 
ains  ;  their  toilsome  way  through  pathless  deserts  and 
morasses  to  the  distant  Delaware,  are  on  the  page  of 
history.  Many  sick  and  feeble  ones  perished.  The 
wilderness  of  their  disastrous  pilgrimage  received, 
and  still  retains,  the  appropriate  appellation  of  the 
"  Shades  of  Death."  The  timid  Malvina  clung  to 
her  mother,  and  alternately  lending  and  receiving 
support,  they  at  length  reached  a  refuge  among  pity 
ing  friends. 

The  tide  of  war  continued  to  sweep  with  fierce 
fluctuations  through  the  Valley  of  Wyoming.  In  its 
protracted  struggles,  it  approximated  to  that  state  of 
society  where  the  "  right  of  the  strongest  reigns,  and 
the  idea  of  justice,  if  it  comes  at  all,  comes  only  to 
be  trodden  under  foot  by  passion."  The  Connecti 
cut  colonists  evinced  their  national  courage  and  te 
nacity  in  defence  of  their  homes,  and  what  they 
deemed  their  legal  possessions.  The  Pennsylva- 
nians  were  equally  inflexible  in  what  they  considered 
their  antecedent  rights.  The  Aborigines  contended 
for  their  favorite  dominion  with  a  lion-like  despair. 
Each  party,  alternately  dispossessed  or  triumphant, 
kept  in  exercise  those  energies  to  which  war  supplies 
so  abundant  an  aliment.  Every  spot  of  that  rich  vale 
required  and  brought  its  full  price  in  blood.  While 
Nature  there  lavished  her  sweetest  charms,  man 
darkly  contrasted  them  with  his  own  demoniac  pas 
sions. 

At  length  an  interval  of  peace  came,  like  soft  blue 
12 


178  A    LEGEND    OF    PENNSYLVANIA. 

through  the  rent  thunder- cloud.  The  powerful  army 
of  General  Sullivan,  deputed  in  1779  to  proceed  to 
that  devoted  spot,  awed  the  Indians,  and  restored 
a  period  of  tranquillity.  The  fugitive  colonists  be 
gan  to  return  and  rebuild  the  ruins  of  Wilkes- 
barre.  But  other  years  elapsed  ere  the  widowed 
mother  and  daughter,' with  whose  fortunes  our  tale 
began,  were  induced  to  re-inhabit  their  long-desert 
ed  abode. 

From  its  retired  situation,  it  had  eluded  the  eye  of 
the  victors  in  the  massacre,  and  thus  escaped  conflag 
ration.  It  was  not  till  the  midsummer  of  1782  that 
its  little  casements  were  observed  to  be  raised,  and 
the  white  curtains  that  formerly  shaded  them,  again 
fluttering  in  the  breeze. 

But  within  its  walls  there  was  a  change.  A  lady, 
on  whom  disease  and  sorrow  seemed  to  have  done 
prematurely  and  pitiably  the  work  of  age,  sat  in  the 
arm-chair  where  of  old  she  had  reclined.  Around 
her  mouth  was  that  unvaried,  perpetual  smile  of  fa 
tuity,  which  more  than  any  frown  of  anger,  harrows 
the  heart  of  love.  She  seldom  raised  her  eyes,  or 
replied  directly  to  any  question.  There  she  sat, 
bowed  over  in  partial  unconsciousness,  ever  knit 
ting,  knitting.  The  invincible  industry  and  the  cause 
less  smile  were  alike  sad  to  the  beholder. 

At  her  side,  ministering  to  her  every  want,  was  a 
gentle  being,  whose  exceeding  beauty,  early  taking 
the  cast  of  pensive  thought,  was  rendered  more  touch 
ing,  more  sublimated.  She  hoped,  in  the  warmth  of 


A    LEGEND    OF    PENNSYLVANIA.  170 

her  filial  love,  that  the  influence  of  long-remembered 
scenes  might  open  some  of  those  cells  where  the 
mind  was  bound  as  in  a  prison-house.  But  the  un 
complaining  invalid,  whom  severe  sickness  had  de 
prived  of  energy,  drew  no  prompting  from  the  most 
powerful  associations. 

"  Dear  mother,  here  are  some  of  the  flowers  you 
were  so  fond  of  cultivating.  They  are  in  the  very 
same  spot  where  they  were  wont  to  grow.  Please 
to  see  how  fragrant  they  are." 

"  Yes,  yes,  Edmund  likes  them.  Save  them  for 
Edmund." 

"  Will  you  lean  on  my  arm  and  take  a  walk  in  our 
little  garden  ]  It  is  green  and  beautiful." 

"  I'll  wait  for  Albert.  He  will  come  soon.  Your 
arm  is  not  strong  enough.  You  are  but  a  baby,  Mal- 
vina." 

There  was  still  a  lingering,  though  feeble  hope, 
that  the  conversation  of  friends  might  touch  some 
chord  of  the  slumbering  intellect.  But  the  broken- 
minded  one,  welcomed  each  visitor  with  the  same 
kind  phrase,  greeted  them  with  the  same  unmeaning 
smile,  and  at  their  departure  begged  them  to  wait  a 
little,  till  her  two  sons  returned. 

It  was  therefore  with  less  of  shuddering  than  could 
have  rationally  been  expected,  that  Malvina  saw 
Miss  Polly  Pierce  enter  their  abode.  Who  knows, 
thought  she,  but  a  rough  hand  may  best  prevail  to 
loose  the  seals  of  that  gentle  sufferer's  soul  ] 

"  Good  morning — good  morning,  neighbor  Dor- 


180  A    LEGEND    OF    PENNSYLVANIA. 

ranee ;  welcome  to  Wyoming  again.  How  pleas 
ant  you  look !  You  love  to  see  kind  old  friends,  no 
doubt.  But  how  mighty  thin  and  crooked  you're 
growin',  and  shrunk  up  short,  like  a  little  child." 

"  Have  you  seen  my  son  Albert  ]" 

"  Albert !  Your  son  !  The  Lord  bless  you,  my 
good  woman  !  Why,  nobody  could  be  sure  of  his 
corpse  after  the  battle,  it  was  so  dreadfully  hacked 
and  hewed.  But  one  of  our  old  neighbors  picked 
up  a  dead  hand,  and  he  said  it  was  shaped  so  exact 
ly  like  yours,  Miss  Dorrance,  that  he  felt  sure  it  must 
have  belonged  to  your  child.  And  only  think,  it 
was  clutching  a  gun,  notwithstanding  it  was  cut  off." 

Malvina  convulsively  caught  hold  of  the  speaker, 
as  one  who  anticipates  a  painful  operation  some 
times  grasps  the  arm  of  the  surgeon. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  you,  Malvina  ?  Be 
like,  they  might  have  been  mistaken  in  saying  that 
dead  hand  was  Albert's.  There  was  another  story 
about  his  being  one  of  them  who  was  killed  at 
Bloody  Rock.  The  old  squaw  sachem  had  her  son 
shot  by  some  of  the  white  people,  a  year  or  two  be 
fore.  So,  after  the  battle,  she  was  promised  twenty 
prisoners  to  pay  the  debt  with,  and  she  had  her  pick 
and  choice  out  of  the  finest-looking  men  of  Wyo 
ming.  The  savage  creature  took  the  youngest  and 
handsomest  she  could  find,  and  put  them  to  death 
with  the  most  awfullest  tortures.  She  made  all  the 
blood  in  their  bodies  run  out  upon  Bloody  Rock,  and 
its  dark,  iron-colored  stains  are  plain  to  be  seen 


A    LEGEND    OF    PENNSYLVANIA.  1,81 

there  now.  But  I  never  believed  Albert  was  mur 
dered  there.  Considering  how  spunky  he  was,  I 
don't  think  he  outlived  the  battle. 

"  Well,  it  was  hard  for  you  to  lose  one  that  you 
sot  so  much  by,  I  dare  say.  But  your  loss  is  noth 
ing  to  be  compared  to  old  Miss  Whittlesey's.  You 
surely  can't  feel  so  bad  as  she.  Her  two  sons  were 
full  out  as  good-looking  as  Albert,  and  older  too. 
On  the  massaker-day,  as  they  call  it,  the  youngest 
one,  Will  Whittlesey  that  was — he  with  the  great 
blue  eyes,  and  fair,  curly  hair — seeing  that  the  battle 
was  likely  to  go  hard  with  us,  threw  himself  into  the 
water,  and  swum  like  a  duck  to  Monockenoch  Isl 
and.  But  close  behind,  pursuing  him,  was  a  white 
man  and  an  Indian,  ready  to  kill  him  as  soon  as  they 
were  able  to  seize  him.  When  poor  Will  reached 
the  island,  his  breath  was  e'enajust  gone,  and  he  had 
scarce  strength  to  hide  among  the  bushes.  The  men 
passed  by  again  and  again,  searching  for  him.  Then 
he  knew  by  the  voice  that  the  white  man  was  his 
brother  Tom,  who  had  joined  the  British,  and  his 
heart  beat  freer,  for  he  felt  secure.  He  did  not  know 
that  a  Tory  brother  was  worse  than  an  Indian  foe. 
So  Tom  found  Will,  and  dragged  him  from  his  hid 
ing-place.  The  poor  young  man,  alarmed  at  his 
threatening  and  fiery  face, knelt  down, and  cried,  'Oh ! 
brother,  save  me  !  save  me  !'  '  There  is  no  brother 
hood  between  us,'  said  the  proud  Tory.  Then  poor 
William  reminded  him  how  they  had  played  togeth 
er,  and  loved  each  other  from  their  infant  years  ;  and 

Q, 


182  A    LEGEND    OF    PENNSYLVANIA. 

he  promised  to  serve  and  obey  him,  and  work  for 
him  without  wages,  if  he  would  only  spare  his  life. 
Seeing  that  his  brother  looked  still  furiously  at  him, 
he  clasped  about  his  knees,  and  begged  for  his  life 
for  their  mother's  sake.  But  just  as  he  was  crying 
'for  our  poor  mother's  sake,'  the  cruel  dragon  shot 
him  through  the  breast,  and  his  blood  gushed  out 
over  his  brother's  feet  as  he  fell  dead  upon  them. 
A  black  boy,  who  had  hidden  in  a  thicket  near  by, 
and  was  not  discovered,  told  the  story,  and  directed 
poor  Willy's  friends  where  to  find  his  body.  There 
it  lay,  with  its  gaping,  deadly  wound,  while  Cain,  as 
I  call  him,  Cain  Whittlesey,  fled  away,  and  made  his 
home  with  the  British  in  Canada." 

Perceiving  how  fast  Malvina's  tears  flowed,  the 
narrator  exclaimed, 

*'  Now  don't  take  on  so.  What  I  say  is  for  your 
good,  that  is,  for  your  mother's  benefit.  I  think  it  is  fit 
ting  she  be  made  to  comprehend  that  her  two  sons  are 
dead,  seeing  she  professes  to  be  a  Christian  woman." 

Then,  advancing  her  chair,  and  raising  her  tone  as 
if  to  one  hopelessly  deaf,  she  vociferated, 

"  Good  woman  !  can't  you  remember  about  Te- 
deuscund,  the  great  six-foot  Indian,  that  had  his 
throat  cut  and  his  wigwam  burned  by  the  Tuscaroras 
in  '58,  because  he  favored  the  whites  ]" 

"  Edmund  remembers.1" 

"  Edmund  don't !  for  I  take  it  he  was  not  born  ; 
at  any  rate,  you  had  not  moved  to  Wyoming.  Why, 
young  woman,  your  mother  will  get  to  be  a  perfect 


A    LEGEND    OF    PENNSYLVANIA.  183 

heathen.  She  does  not  appear  to  know  the  living 
from  the  dead.  Who  are  you  so  busy  a  knitting 
stockings  for,  ma'am  1" 

"For  my  two  sons.  Malvina  must  have  a  pair 
when  they  are  provided  for.  Poor  baby  !  she  must 
not  be  forgot  when  the  boys'  are  ready." 

"  If  that  don't  beat  all  natur'  !  Knitting  stockings 
for  men  that  are  dead  and  gone,  and  can  have  no  use 
for  them  !  It  is  truly  awful !  Look  here,  Miss  Dor- 
ranee  !  can't  you  be  made  to  understand  that  Albert 
was  cut  as  fine  as  mince-meat  by  the  British,  and 
that  Edmund  was  shot  through  the  heart  by  nobody 
knows  who  T' 

Malvina  was  sensibly  relieved  when  the  entrance 
of  other  visitants  put  a  stop  to  this  harrowing  narra 
tion,  though  her  mother  had  listened  to  it  with  that 
fixed,  inexpressive  smile  of  the  features  in  which  the 
soul  has  no  part.  Gradually  and  gently  there  was  a 
failing  of  strength,  and  a  visible  tending  downward 
to  the  tomb. 

One  night  she  was  more  than  usually  restless  and 
troubled.  Toward  the  morning  watch  she  called  out 
suddenly,  though  faintly, 

"Daughter,  daughter!  my  two  sons  have  come  for 
me.  Lay  aside  my  work,  and  help  me  to  get  ready, 
that  I  may  go  with  them." 

And  then,  as  if  death  for  a  moment  lifted  up  the 
crushed  organs  of  thought,  and  poured  a  flood  of  light 
into  all  the  curtained  recesses  where  the  mind  had 
languished,  she  exclaimed,  in  ecstasy, 


184  A    LEGEND    OF    PENNSYLVANIA. 

"  Oh  !  the  depth  of  the  riches,  both  of  the  wisdom 
and  goodness  of  God  !  How  unsearchable  are  his 
judgments,  and  his  ways  past  finding  out !  One  more 
kiss,  dear  Malvina.  Angels  wait  for  me.  The  Sav 
ior  will  be  thy  comforter,  and  thou  shalt  come  to  us. 
Beloved,  it  is  but  a  little  while — " 

Her  embrace  relaxed,  but  the  white  lips  still  mur 
mured,  "  Yet  a  little  while,  and  thou  shalt  come — " 

A  deep  sigh  wrought  itself  into  the  sound  "  be 
loved." 

It  was  the  last,  arid  the  clay  rested  in  peace. 

Dawn  came  on  with  a  chill  shudder,  like  the  grief 
that  paralyzed  the  daughter's  heart.  Sole  mourner 
as  she  stood  by  the  side  of  the  dead,  she  was  not  able 
at  once  to  receive  the  full  sense  of  her  afflictions. 
Almost,  it  would  seem  as  if  the  young  spirit  had  tak 
en  flight  with  the  mother  it  had  so  long  watched,  so 
pallid  was  the  countenance,  so  immovable  the  eye. 
But  from  the  stupor  of  grief  she  was  roused  by  the 
pressure  of  duties  that  devolved  upon  her. 

After  the  funeral  obsequies,  while  the  sympathy  of 
friends  was  earnest  in  proposing  a  change  of  resi 
dence  and  proffering  the  requisite  protection,  it  was 
perceived  that  her  plans  were  already  formed.  Dur 
ing  her  exile  from  Wyoming  she  had  become  ac 
quainted  with  the  sect  of  Moravians,  and  their  simple 
and  soothing  spirit  of  piety  had  conciliated  her  confi 
dence  and  regard.  It  had  become  her  deliberate 
decision  to  take  refuge  among  them,  when  Heaven 
should  complete  the  bereavement  for  which  it  had 


A    LEGEND    OF    PENNSYLVANIA.  185 

vouchsafed  her  so  long  a  season  of  preparation.  She 
had  visited  their  settlement  of  converted  Indians  at 
Wyalusing,  and  witnessed  the  simple  and  solemn 
worship  in  their  chapel,  and  saw  with  delight  how 
the  tenets  of  .Zinzendorff  might  soften  and  elevate 
even  the  rude  red  men  of  the  forest. 

After  disposing  of  the  small  estate  left  in  her  pos 
session,  she  retired  to  Nazareth,  a  beautiful  Moravian 
village  in  Pennsylvania,  and  became  a  resident  in  the 
house  of  the  single  sisters.  The  kiss  of  welcome 
from  that  vestal  train  soothed  her  spirit  to  peace,  as 
the  dove  folded  her  ruffled  pinions  at  the  casement 
of  the  ark,  from  a  world  of  troubled  waters. 

The  consistent,  contemplative  piety  which  breath 
ed  its  serene  atmosphere  around,  soothed  her  afflic 
tion.  Unencumbered  by  any  vow  of  celibacy,  which, 
in  the  institutions  of  the  United  Brethren,  is  neither 
proposed  nor  permitted  to  be  taken,  she  found  the 
spot  which  she  had  chosen,  most  congenial  to  her 
brotherless  and  sisterless  heart.  The  culture  of 
flowers  was  a  favorite  solace,  and  those  which  her 
mother  had  peculiarly  loved  she  taught  to  blossom, 
or  to  curtain  her  window  with  their  fair  leaves  and 
clasping  tendrils. 

The  education  of  children  gave  early  prominence 
to  the  Moravian  establishments  of  Bethlehem  and 
Nazareth.  One,  by  its  system  of  instruction  for  girls, 
and  the  other  for  boys,  acquired  deserved  celebrity. 
From  different  and  distant  parts  of  these  states,  then 
newly  united  after  the  War  of  Revolution,  parents 


186  A    LEGEND    OF    PENNSYLVANIA. 

sent  thither  the  young  scions  of  their  pride  and  hope. 
They  felt  it  wisdom  to  intrust  their  nurture  to  those 
who  made  religion,  "•without  controversy ',"  the  root  of 
all  their  teachings  ;  appealed  to  it  in  sorrow  as  their 
consolation ;  derived  from  it  the  rudiments  of  a  self- 
denying  benevolence  ;  mingled  it,  as  a  heightening 
principle,  with  every  joy ;  and  wore  its  semblance 
on  their  brow  in  the  smile  that  childhood  loves. 

Nazareth,  by  its  seclusion  from  temptation  and  evil 
example,  revealed  peculiar  facilities  for  a  nursery 
of  the  young  mind.  It  has  been  mentioned  that  it 
was  distinguished  by  its  excellent  school  for  boys. 
The  female  children  of  the  village,  and  a  few  others, 
were  also  favored  in  being  placed  under  the  immedi 
ate  charge  of  the  single  sisters.  In  this  employment 
Malvina  found  delightful  scope  for  her  active  virtues 
and  her  ever-growing  benevolence.  To  the  lonely 
and  chastened  spirit,  no  vocation  is  more  salutary 
than  that  of  instructing  the  young.  Association  with 
the  unbowed  and  healthful  heart,  imparts  elasticity  to 
that  which  has  painfully  realized  either  the  world's 
emptiness  or  its  own  infirmity.  To  feel  the  conscious 
ness  of  doing  good,  to  unfold  the  page  of  knowledge 
to  the  enraptured  mind,  to  gather  those  grateful  af 
fections  whose  root  is  in  that  rapture,  are  unspeakable 
privileges. 

Malvina,  by  the  gracefulness  of  true  goodness, 
taught  her  pupils  the  happiness  that  it  inspires.  She 
walked  before  them  as  a  good  angel,  willing  a  while 
to  leave  heaven's  bright  heritage  for  their  sakes.  The 


A    LEGEND    OF    PENNSYLVANIA.  187 

precepts  by  which  she  allured  them  to  piety  were 
the  holy  smile  that  she  wore,  and  the  trusting  prayer 
that  she  taught  them  to  breathe,  both  in  sorrow  and 
in  joy. 

Thus  years  passed  over  her,  leaving  her  still  beau 
tiful.  Time  seemed  to  cast  on  her  neither  "  spot  nor 
wrinkle,  nor  any  such  thing."  His  commission  re 
specting  her  was  to  modify,  not  to  extinguish  or  to 
take  away ;  for  he  has  nothing  to  do  with  that  beauty 
which  rests  not  on  "  a  set  of  features  or  complexion," 
but  on  the  tincture  of  the  soul.  In  the  trials  and 
causes  of  irritation  which  sometimes  befell  her  (for 
what  earthly  lot  excludes  them  ]),  the  subdued  ex 
pression  of  her  calm  countenance  seemed  to  be,  "  I 
am  silent;  I  offer  myself  in  sacrifice;"  while  the  bright 
ness  ever  beaming  from  her  eye,  replied,  as  if  in  re 
buke,  "  No,  not  sacrifice,  glad  incense — a  hymn  of' 
praise"  Gathering  around  her  the  little  group  that 
she  so  loved  to  guide,  she  sometimes  said, 

"  My  office  reminds  me  of  a  dream  that  I  once  had 
in  my  childhood.  Methought  I  was  feeding  a  white 
lamb  from  a  cup  of  milk.  While  it  took  the  food,  it 
looked  lovingly  up  to  me  as  to  its  mother.  Then  a 
voice,  as  of  the  harp,  spake  from  the  high  clouds, 
'  Bring  the  lamb  unto  me  ;'  and  I  said, '  I  will,  Lord,' 
for  I  thought  it  was  the  voice  of  the  Lamb  that  was 
slain  for  us. 

"  I  awoke,  and  gave  that  sweet  dream  to  Memory, 
that  she  might  keep  it  among  her  honey  blossoms. 
Now,  when  she  brings  it  freshly  back,  it  seems  that 


188  A    LEGEND    OF    PENNSYLVANIA. 

you,  my  docile  and  loving  flock,  are  like  that  white 
lamb.  Then  I  pour  out  for  you  the  '  pure  milk  of 
the  Word,'  and  the  spirit  of  my  vision  forms  itself 
into  a  prayer  ;  and  to  the  charge  of  my  Savior,  '  Bring 
them  every  one  to  me,'  I  answer,  perhaps  too  fond 
ly,  '  7  will,  Lord.'  Help  me,  blessed  ones,  that  my 
promise  be  not  in  vain." 

It  was  once,  near  the  close  of  a  long  and  cloudless 
summer  Sabbath,  that  the  sun,  drawing  toward  his 
rest,  cast  upon  the  peaceful  roofs  and  quiet  shades  of 
Nazareth  a  flood  of  unwonted  brilliance.  A  train 
was  seen  slowly  pursuing  a  path  over  the  brow  of  a 
verdant  hill  in  the  center  of  the  village.  Passing 
without  a  glance  the  beautiful  public  garden,  with 
its  deep  recesses  and  glowing  plants,  and  arbors,  and 
fountains,  they  approached  the  cemetery,  whose  gate 
was  near  that  of  this  ornamented  domain,  as  if  to 
teach  the  reflecting  mind  that  the  exit  and  entrance  of 
life  are  scarcely  divided,  and  that  man  every  where, 
as  well  as  in  ancient  Judea,  may  find  in  his  "  garden 
a  sepulcher." 

They  paused  at  the  gate  of  the  City  of  the  Dead. 
Music  from  wind-instruments,  mingling  with  deep- 
toned  voices,  swelled  out  on  the  soft  breeze  touch 
ing  the  fountain  of  tender  tears.  At  first  it  was 
plaintive,  as  if  bidding  farewell  to  beloved  scenes  in 
the  name  of  the  sleeper  upon  the  bier.  Then,  thrill 
ing  more  wildly,  it  seemed  to  implore  of  the  genius 
of  that  hallowed  spot  room  for  a  new  habitant,  a  nar 
row  chamber  where  he  mi^ht  be  troubled  no  more. 


A    LEGEND    OF    PENNSYLVANIA.  189 

They  entered  the  place  of  tombs.  Neither  weed, 
nor  bramble,  nor  shadow  of  gloom  defaced  it.  Over 
every  grave  flowers  and  aromatic  shrubs  clustered, 
and  were  so  thickly  interwoven,  that  the  horizontal 
stone,  bearing  the  name  of  the  tenant  below,  was 
partially  hidden  from  view. 

At  an  open  grave  the  procession  stayed.  The  sol 
emn  service  in  the  deep  German  intonations,  from  the 
lips  of  the  venerable  pastor,  drew  deeper  power  from 
the  surrounding  scenery.  But  when  the  expectant 
tomb  was  about  to  take  its  treasure,  there  was  such 
a  burst  of  melody,  of  Him  who  "conquered  death, 
and  brought  life  and  immortality  to  light  through  the 
Gospel,"  that  the  consignment  of  earth  to  earth  was 
not  in  tears,  but  in  joyous  hope. 

Surely  Music  should  consecrate  the  tomb  when  it 
takes  the  Christian  to  its  bosom.  She  hath  a  right  to 
stand  wherever  Faith  plants  an  anchor.  She  an 
nounced  to  the  shepherds  the  coming  of  Him  who  is 
our  salvation ;  let  her  lift  up  her  voice  when  the  soul 
returneth  to  His  arms.  It  is  fitting  that  the  shroud 
ed  form,  which  at  the  last  day  shall  come  forth  in 
glory,  should  go  to  its  turf-pillow  with  a  sacred  song. 
What  right  have  despair  and  weeping  to  watch  over 
the  body,  while  the  spirit,  rejoicing  in  its  "  exceed 
ing  great  reward,"  tastes  a  bliss  beyond  earth's  im 
agining  ] 

The  requiem  ceased.  Little  children  robed  in 
white  pressed  to  the  very  verge  of  the  grave.  They 
looked  steadily  into  it,  with  calm,  untroubled  faces. 


190  A    LEGEND    OF    PENNSYLVANIA. 

It  would  seem  that  even  they  had  learned  how  death 
might  be  deprived  of  fear. 

A  group  of  beautiful  girls  stood  near.  They  were 
of  that  age  when  the  blossom  bursts  the  green  envel 
op  of  childhood,  taking  the  first  perfect  rose-tint  of 
youth.  Their  heads  declined  toward  each  other,  like 
the  bells  of  the  lily  of  the  vale,  drooping  and  sur 
charged  with  rain.  They  were  long  silent.  Then 
a  low,  tuneful  tone  breathed  out, 

"  We  will  not  sorrow  as  without  hope.  She  was 
an  angel  in  our  path.  Will  she  not  still  be  our 
guardian  spirit,  watchful,  though  unseen?"  Other 
voices,  tremulous  and  sweet,  replied, 

"  It  would  best  please  her  not  to  be  remembered 
by  tears,  but  by  the  life  of  goodness  she  taught  us." 

Of  whom  did  they  speak?  Of  Malvina,  the  be 
loved  and  sainted  one,  who,  by  the  meekly-endured 
sorrows  of  earth,  had  been  fitted  for  an  abode  in 
heaven. 


THE 


LADY  OF  MOUNT  VERNON. 


~1 


'  I  would  not  have  my  land  like  Rome, 

So  lofty,  and  so  coid, 
Be  hers  a  lowlier  majesty, 
In  yet  a  nobler  mould." 

GREN*VILLE  MELLEX. 


THE  LADY  OF  MOUNT  VERNON. 


THE  state  of  society  in  Virginia,  a  century  since, 
was  unique  and  imposing.  The  "  Ancient  Domin 
ion"  retained  stronger  features  of  resemblance  to 
the  father-land  than  any  of  its  sisters.  The  man 
ners  of  the  nobility  of  England  had  been  transplant 
ed,  with  little  external  change,  to  the  territory  of 
Powhatan.  A  kind  of  feudal  magnificence,  a  high 
and  quick  sense  of  honor,  a  generous  and  lordly  hos 
pitality,  early  characterized  a  State  which  has  given 
to  this  western  empire  so  many  of  its  mightiest  and 
noblest  names. 

Traces  of  these  lineaments  still  exist  in  that  sun 
ny  clime.  Yet  our  severance  from  the  parent  coun 
try,  while  it  marred  her  likeness  among  all  the  colo 
nies,  obscured  it  less  palpably  in  the  countenance  of 
her  eldest-born.  One  of  the  first  innovations  was 
the  breaking  down  of  that  courtly  and  almost  solemn 
etiquette,  which  had  marked  the  intercourse  of  the 
higher  classes.  "  I  know  your  age  by  the  edition  of 
your  manners,"  said  a  lady  of  discernment  to  a  gen 
tleman  distinguished  for  politeness.  "  I  am  certain 
that  you  were  educated  before  the  Revolution." 
But  the  republicanism,  which  may  have  swept  with 
too  full  a  tide  over  our  national  manners,  had,  at  the 
13  R 


104  T  H  E    L  A  D  Y    O  K    M  O  U  N  T    V  E  R  N  O  N. 

period  of  which  \ve  speak,  no  existence  in  Virginia. 
The  levees  of  her  royal  governors,  though  stripped 
of  monarchical  pomp,  displayed  a  remnant  of  those 
"  stately  steppings  of  chivalry"  with  which  the  titled 
and  the  valiant  of  a  former  age  were  accustomed,  in 
European  courts,  to  pay  homage  to  rank  and  beauty. 
In    the   winter  of  1748,  the  levees   of  Governor 
Gooch  opened  with  unwonted  splendor  at  Williams- 
burg.     Many  of  the  members  of  the  Assembly  took 
with  them  the  elite  of  their  families,  and  this  session 
was  graced  by  the  presence  of  several  young  and 
high-born  maidens,  who  had  never  before  been  pre 
sented  at  court.     One  among  them  was  evidently  the 
theme  of  general  admiration.     Some  of  the  statelier 
matrons  criticised  her  as  deficient  in  height.     But, 
though  somewhat  beneath   the   middle   stature,  she 
possessed    that    rounded    and    exquisite     symmetry 
which  the  early  historians  have  ascribed  to  the  fas 
cinating  Ann  Boleyn,  while  her  pure  complexion  and 
clear  eye  were  finely  contrasted  with  dark,  glossy, 
and  redundant  hair.     Still  it  was  found  difficult,  by 
common  observers,  to  analyze  her  beauty  ;  for  it  rest 
ed  not  on  any  predominant  gift,  but  on  the  consent 
of  the  whole  person  in  loveliness.     Grace  of  move 
ment  and  melody  of  voice  were  among  its  more  ap 
parent  elements.      The   slight  rose-leaf  tinge   upon 
her  cheek  was  heightened  when  she  spoke,  or,  if  the 
subject  imbodied  feeling,  deepened  to  a  flush  of  car 
mine,  disappearing  as  rapidly  as  it  came.     But  what 
chiefly  won  old  and  young,  was  a  bland  cheerfulness, 


THE    L  A  U  Y    OF    MOUNT    V  E  11  N  O  V.  195 

the  silent  history  of  the  soul's  happiness,  and  an 'ex 
pressive  smile,  inspiring  every  beholder  with  confi 
dence,  like  a  beam  from  the  temple  of  Truth.  Though 
she  had  scarcely  numbered  twice  eight  summers, 
there  was  about  her  a  womanly  dignity  which  chas 
tened  the  most  forward  admiration  into  respect. 

Among  those  who  paid  their  devoirs  to  this  lovely 
young  creature  was  Colonel  Custis,  one  of  the  most 
accomplished  cavaliers  of  his  time.  His  tall  and 
elegant  form  was  adapted  to  athletic  exercises,  to 
the  control  of  the  spirited  charger,  or  the  show  of 
military  evolution.  Still  he  appeared  to  uncommon 
advantage  in  the  minuet,  which  was  then  executed 
among  the  higher  circles  in  the  "  Ancient  Domin 
ion"  with  all  the  precision  and  grace  by  which  it 
was  characterized  at  the  court  of  Louis  Fourteenth. 
Yet  it  was  observed  that  this  favorite  dance,  when 
shared  with  the  lady  whom  he  admired,  was  far  less 
prized  than  the  conversations  that  followed  ;  when, 
with  eyes  intensely  fixed,  as  if  to  read  the  soul,  he 
recorded  each  fragment  of  a  word,  or  the  slightest 
suffusion  of  countenance  in  his  heart  of  hearts. 

The  Honorable  John  Custis,  of  Arlington,  held  at 
that  period  the  office  of  king's  counselor,  and  was 
a  man  of  wealth  and  distinction.  His  attendance  at 
Williamsburg  during  the  present  session  had  been 
somewhat  interrupted  by  ill  health  ;  and,  while  there, 
the  grave  and  absorbing  duties  of  the  statesman  had 
left  him  ignorant  what  reigning  beauties  had  pro 
duced  sensation  at  court.  Not  long  after  the  sus- 


196  THE    LADY    OF    MOUNT    V  E  R  \  O  X. 

pension  of  the  levees,  and  the  return  of  the  burgess 
es  to  their  homes,  the  counselor  requested  an  inter 
view  in  his  private  cabinet  with  his  son,  Colonel 
Daniel  Park  Custis.  There  was  a  singular  mixture 
of  gravity  and  condescension  in  his  manner  as  he  de 
sired  him  to  be  seated,  and  thus  opened  the  discourse. 

"  I  have  for  some  time  wished  to  see  you  on  an 
interesting  subject.  Though  still  young,  I  consider 
you  to  have  arrived  at  years  of  discretion."  The 
colonel  bowed. 

"  You  know  Colonel  Byrd,  of  Westover,  to  be  my 
very  particular  friend.  His  daughter  is  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  and  accomplished  ladies  in  Virginia. 
It  is  my  desire  that  you  form  with  her  a  matrimonial 
alliance." 

"  My  dear  sir,  I  have  not  the  vanity  of  supposing 
that  I  could  render  myself  acceptable  to  Miss  Byrd." 

"  No  objection  on  that  head.  Her  father  and  my 
self  have  settled  it.  Indeed,  I  may  as  well  tell  you 
that  we  have  had  numberless  conversations  on  this 
business,  and  that  you  have  both  been  as  good  as 
betrothed  from  the  cradle.  Think,  my  son,  of  the 
advantages  of  such  a  connection,  the  contiguity  of 
estates,  the  amount  of  wealth  and  power  that  will 
thus  ultimately  pass  into  your  hands." 

"  Affection,  sir,  seems  to  me  the  only  bond  that 
can  hallow  so  intimate  a  union.  Not  even  my  rev 
erence  for  the  best  of  fathers,  could  induce  me  to 
enter  it  from  mercenary  motives." 

!'  Mercenary,  sir  !    mercenary  !     Who  ever  before 


THE    LADY    OF    MOUNT    V  E  R  X  O  X.  1'97 

dared  to  couple  that  word  with  my  name?"  And 
the  counselor  raised  himself  to  his  full  height,  and 
fixed  a  kindling  eye  upon  his  son.  Then,  pacing  the 
apartment  a  few  turns,  he  resumed  his  theme.  "  You 
speak  of  the  affection  that  should  precede  marriage. 
Have  the  goodness  to  understand  that  the  misplacing 
of  yours  may  materially  affect  your  patrimonial  in 
heritance."  He  waited  for  a  reply,  but  in  vain. 
"  May  I  inquire  if  you  have  thought  fit  thus  early 
to  decide  seriously  on  the  preference  of  any  young 
lady  as  a  companion  for  life  V 

"  I  have,  sir." 

"  May   I   be    favored    with    a  knowledge    of  her 
name  ]" 

"Miss  Martha  Dandridge." 

The  high-spirited  gentlemen  parted  in  mutual  re 
sentment.  But  the  reflection  of  a  night  restored 
both  to  better  feelings.  The  father  began  to  excuse 
the  son  by  recalling  the  warmth  of  his  own  early  at 
tachment  ;  while  the  son  referred  the  testiness  of  the 
father  to  the  sudden  disappointment  of  a  long-cher 
ished  plan,  and  the  querulousness  of  feeble  health. 
Still,  as  it  usually  happens  with  proud  men,  neither 
would  make  the  first  advance  to  open  his  heart  to 
the  other  ;  and  a  slight,  though  clearly  perceptible 
shade  of  coldness  gathered  over  their  intercourse. 
So  this  interview  served  as  a  stimulant  to  the  prog 
ress  of  matrimony.  The  temporary  reserve  of  the 
father,  throwing  something  like  gloom  over  the  pa 
ternal  mansion,  heightened  the  frequency  and  fervor 
R2 


198  THE    LADY    OK    MOUNT    V  E  R  \  O  X. 

of  the  visits  of  the  lover.  The  gentle  object  of  his 
preference  imagined  no  barrier  to  an  alliance  where 
no  obvious  inequality  was  supposed  to  exist;  and  he 
forbore  to  communicate  what  would  only  occasion 
perplexity,  and  what,  he  trusted,  would  soon  vanish 
like  the  "  baseless  fabric  of  a  vision."  According 
to  his  happy  prescience,  the  dignified  counselor 
gave  his  consent  to  the  nuptials,  and  the  flower  of 
the  court  of  Williamsburg  became  a  bride  in  the 
blush  of  her  seventeenth  summer. 

The  residence  of  the  new  pair  was  a  retired  and  ro 
mantic  mansion  on  the  banks  cf  the  Pamumkey.  It 
reared  its  snowy  walls  amid  a  profusion  of  vines  and 
flowering  trees.  Broad  plantations,  and  the  wealth  of 
Virginian  forests,  variegated  the  scenery.  Rural  oc 
cupations,  and  the  delight  of  each  other's  society, 
spread  for  them  what  they  deemed  a  paradise.  In 
visits  to  their  favored  dwelling,  the  counselor  learned 
to  appreciate  the  treasure  of  his  new  daughter.  Her 
excellence,  in  the  responsible  sphere  to  which  she 
was  introduced,  won  his  regard ;  and,  with  the  in 
genuousness  of  an  honorable  mind,  when  convinced 
of  error,  he  sought  every  opportunity  of  distinguish 
ing  that  merit  to  which  he  had  once  done  injustice. 
When  he  saw  the  grace  and  courtesy  with  which 
she  maintained  a  generous  hospitality  ;  the  judg 
ment,  far  beyond  her  years,  displayed  in  the  man 
agement  of  her  servants  ;  the  energy,  the  early  ris 
ing,  the  cheerful  alacrity  that  regulated  and  beau 
tified  the  internal  mechanism  of  her  family;  the 


THE    LADY    OF    MOUNT    V  E  R  N  O  N.  1 09 

disinterestedness  with  which  she  forgot  herself  and 
sought  the  good  of  others ;  but,  above  all,  her  un 
tiring  devotion  to  her  husband,  and  to  the  little  ones 
who  sprang  up  around  her,  he  gloried  in  the  senti 
ment  of  his  son,  that  strong  personal  affection  should 
form  the  basis  of  matrimonial  happiness. 

But  this  scene  of  exquisite  felicity  was  not  long  to 
last.  The  death  of  the  two  oldest  children  prepared 
the  way  for  the  deeper  loss  of  the  adored  husband 
and  father.  Yet  in  the  trying  situation  of  a  young, 
beautiful,  and  wealthy  widow,  she  continued  to  evince 
unvarying  discretion,  and  faithfully  to  discharge  ev 
ery  important  duty. 

It  was  in  the  spring  of  1758  that  two  gentlemen, 
on  horseback,  attended  by  a  servant,  wound  their 
way  slowly  through  the  luxuriant  scenery  that  di 
versifies  the  county  of  New  Kent.  The  conspicu 
ous  personage  of  the  group  was  tall,  graceful,  and 
commanding,  in  a  rich  military  undress,  and  appa 
rently  about  twenty-five  years  of  age.  He  would 
have  been  a  model  for  the  sculptor  when  Rome  was 
in  her  best  days.  His  companion  was  an  elderly 
man  in  a  plain  garb,  who,  by  the  familiarity  with 
which  he  pointed  out  surrounding  objects,  would 
seem  to  be  taking  his  daily  round  upon  his  own 
estate.  As  they  approached  the  avenue  to  an  an 
tique  mansion,  he  placed  his  hand  upon  the  rein  of 
his  companion  : 

"  Nay,  Colonel  Washington,  let  it  never  be  said 
that  you  passed  the  house  of  your  father's  friend 


200          THE    LADY    OF    MOUNT    VERXOX. 

without  dismounting.  I  must  insist  on  the  honor  of 
detaining  you  as  my  guest." 

"  Thanks  to  you,  my  dear  sir;  but  I  ride  in  haste, 
the  bearer  of  dispatches  to  our  governor  in  Will- 
iamsburg,  which  may  not  brook  delay." 

"  Is  this  the  noble  steed  which  was  given  you  by 
the  dying  Braddock  on  the  fatal  field  of  Mononga- 
hela  1  and  this  the  servant  he  bequeathed  you  at  the 
same  time?" 

Washington  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

"  Then,  my  dear  colonel,  thus  mounted  and  at 
tended,  you  may  well  dine  with  me,  arid  by  borrow 
ing  somewhat  of  this  fine  moonlight,  reach  Williams- 
burg  ere  his  excellency  shall  have  shaken  off*  his 
morning  slumbers." 

"  Do  I  understand  that  I  may  be  excused  imme,- 
diately  after  dinner  ]" 

"  Immediately,  with  all  the  promptness  of  military 
discipline." 

"  Then,  sir,  I  accept  your  hospitality,"  and  grace 
fully  throwing  himself  from  his  spirited  charger,  he 
resigned  him  to  his  English  servant,  giving,  at  the 
same  time,  strict  orders  for  the  hour  of  departure  on 
their  urgent  journey. 

"  I  am  rejoiced,  Colonel  Washington,"  said  the 
hospitable  old  gentleman,  "  thus  fortunately  to  have 
met  you  on  my  morning  ride  ;  and  the  more  so,  as  I 
have  some  guests  who  may  make  the  repast  pass 
pleasantly,  and  will  not  fail  to  appreciate  a  young 
and  gallant  soldier." 


THE    LADY    OF    M  O  U  N  T    V  E  R  N  O  N.  201 

Washington  bowed  his  tlianks,  and  was  introduced 
to  the  company.  Virginia's  far-famed  hospitality  was 
well  set  forth  in  that  spacious  baronial  hall.  The 
social  feast  was  closed  precisely  at  the  time  the  host 
had  predicted.  The  servant  also  was  punctual.  He 
knew  the  habits  of  his  master.  At  the  appointed 
moment  he  stood  with  the  horses  caparisoned  at  the 
gate.  Yet  long  did  the  proud  steed  champ  his  bit, 
and  curve  his  arching  neck,  and  paw  the  broken  turf. 
And  much  did  the  menial  marvel,  as,  listening  to 
every  footstep  that  paced  down  the  avenue,  he  saw 
the  sun  sink  in  the  west,  and  yet  no  master  appear. 
When  was  he  ever  before  known  to  fail  in  punctu 
ality  1  The  evening  air  breathed  cool  and  damp, 
and  soothed  the  impatience  of  the  chafing  courser. 
At  length  orders  came  that  the  horses  should  be  put 
up  for  the  night.  Wonder  upon  wonder !  when  his 
business  with  the  governor  was  so  urgent !  The  sun 
rode  high  in  the  heavens  the  next  day  ere  Washing 
ton  mounted  for  his  journey.  No  explanation  was 
given.  But  it  was  rumored  that  among  the  guests 
was  a  beautiful  and  youthful  widow,  to  whose  charms 
the  hero  had  responded.  This  was  farther  confirm 
ed  by  his  tarrying  but  a  brief  space  at  Williamsburg, 
and  retracing  his  route  with  unusual  celerity,  and 
becoming  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  house  of  the  late 
Colonel  Custis  in  that  vicinity,  where,  the  following 
year,  his  nuptials  were  celebrated.  "And  rare  and 
high,"  says  G.  W.  P.  Custis,  Esq.,  the  descendant 
and  biographer  of  the  lady,  "  rare  and  high  was  the 


202          THE    LADY    OF    MOUNT    V  E  R  X  O  \. 

revelry  at  that  palmy  period  of  Virginia's  festal  age  ; 
for  many  were  gathered  to  that  marriage  of  the  good, 
the  great,  the  gifted,  and  the  gay;  while  Virginia, 
with  joyful  acclamations,  hailed  in  the  prosperous 
and  happy  bridegroom  her  favorite  chief." 

Henceforth  the  life  of  the  Lady  of  Mount  Yernon 
is  a  part  of  the  history  of  her  country.  In  that  hal 
lowed  retreat  she  was  found  entering  into  the  plans 
of  Washington,  sharing  his  confidence,  and  making 
his  household  happy.  There  her  only  daughter, 
Martha  Custis,  died  in  the  bloom  of  youth  ;  and  a 
few  years  After,  when  the  troubles  of  the  country 
drew  her  husband  to  the  post  of  commandcr-in-chief 
of  her  armies,  she  accompanied  him  to  Boston,  and 
witnessed  its  siege  and  evacuation.  For  eight  years 
he  returned  no  more  to  enjoy  his  beloved  residence 
on  the  banks  of  the  Potomac.  During  his  absence 
she  made  the  most  strenuous  efforts  to  sustain  her 
added  responsibilities,  and  to  endure,  with  change 
less  trust  in  Heaven,  continual  anxiety  for  the  safety 
of  her  husband  and  the  fate  of  the  country.  At  the 
close  of  each  campaign  she  impaired,  in  compliance 
with  his  wishes,  to  headquarters,  where  the  ladies  of 
the  general  officers  joined  her  in  forming  such  a  so 
ciety  as  diffused  a  cheering  influence  over  even  the 
gloom  of  such  winters  as  those  at  Valley  Forge  and 
Morristown.  The  opening  of  every  campaign  was 
the  signal  of  the  return  of  Lady  Washington  (as  she 
was  called  in  the  army)  to  her  domestic  cares  at 
Mount  Vernon.  "  I  heard,"  said  she,  "  the  first  and 


THE    LADY    OP    MOUNT    V  E  R  N  O  N.  203 


the  last  cannon  of  the  Revolutionary  war."  The  re 
joicings  which  attended  the  surrender  of  Cornwallis 
in  the  autumn  of  1781  marked  for  her  a  season  of 
the  deepest  private  sorrow.  Her  only  remaining 
child,  Colonel  John  Custis,  the  aid-de-camp  of 
Washington,  became,  during  his  arduous  duties  at 
the  siege  of  Yorktown,  the  victim  of  an  epidemic 
fever,  and  died  at  the  age  of  twenty-seven.  He 
was  but  a  boy  of  five  years  at  the  time  of  her  second 
marriage,  and  had  drawn  forth  strongly  the  affection 
and  regard  of  her  illustrious  husband,  who  shared  her 
affliction  for  his  loss,  and  by  the  tenderest  sympathy 
sought  its  alleviation. 

After  the  close  of  the  war  a  few  years  were  de 
voted  to  the  enjoyment  and  embellishment  of  their 
beloved  Mount  Vernon.  Returning  peace  and  pros 
perity  to  the  land  of  their  birth  gave  pure  and  bright 
ingredients  to  their  cup  of  happiness.  Their  man 
sion  was  thronged  with  guests  of  distinction,  all  of 
whom  remarked  with  admiration  the  energy  of  the 
Lady  of  Mount  Vernon  in  the  complicated  duties  of 
a  Virginian  housekeeper,  and  the  elegance  and  grace 
with  which  she  presided  at  her  noble  board. 

The  voice  of  a  free  nation,  conferring  on  General 
Washington  the  highest  honor  in  its  power  to  be 
stow,  was  not  obeyed  without  a  sacrifice  of  feeling. 
It  was  in  the  spring  of  1789  that,  with  his  lady,  he 
bade  adiou  to  his  tranquil  abode,  to  assume  the  cares 
of  the  first  presidency.  In  his  domestic  establish 
ment,  as  in  his  political  course,  he  mingled  the  simpli- 


201  THE    LADY    OF    MOUNT    V  E  R  X  O  V. 

city  of  a  Republic  with  that  true  dignity  which  he  felt 
necessary  to  secure  the  respect  of  older  governments. 
The  furniture  of  his  house,  the  livery  of  his  servants, 
the  entertainment  of  his  guests,  displayed  elegance, 
while  they  rejected  ostentation.  In  all  these  arrange 
ments  his  beloved  consort  was  a  second  self.  Her 
Friday  evening  levees,  at  which  he  was  always  pres 
ent,  exhibited  that  perfect  etiquette  which  should 
mark  the  intercourse  of  the  dignified  and  high-bred. 
Commencing  at  seven,  and  closing  at  ten,  they  lent 
no  more  sanction  to  late  hours  than  to  levity.  The 
first  lady  of  the  nation  still  preserved  the  habits  of 
early  life.  Indulging  in  no  indolence,  she  left  her 
pillow  at  dawn,  and  after  breakfast  retired  to  her 
chamber  an  hour  for  the  study  of  the  Scriptures  arid 
devotion.  This  practice,  it  is  said,  during  the  period 
of  half  a  century,  she  never  omitted.  The  duties  of 
the  Sabbath  were  dear  to  her.  The  president  and 
herself  attended  public  worship  with  regularity,  and 
in  the  evening  he  read  to  her  in  her  chamber  the 
Scriptures  and  a  sermon. 

The  spring  of  1797  opened  for  them  with  the  most 
pleasing  anticipations.  The  burdens  of  high  office 
were  resigned,  and  they  were  about  to  retire  for  the 
remainder  of  their  days  to  the  delightful  shades  of 
Mount  Vernon.  The  new  turf,  springing  into  green 
ness  wherever  they  trod,  the  vernal  blossoms  unfold 
ing  to  greet  them,  the  warbled  welcome  of  the  birds 
were  never  more  dear,  as  they  returned  to  their  ru 
ral  retreat,  hallowed  by  the  recollections  of  earlier 


THE    LADY    OF    MOUNT    V  E  R  N  O  N.  205 

years,  and  of  duties  well  performed,  Alas !  in  two 
years  Washington  was  no  more.  The  shock  of  his 
death,  after  an  illness  of  only  twenty-four  hours,  fell 
like  a  thunderbolt  upon  the  beloved  and  bereaved 
woman.  That  piety  which  had  so  long  been  her 
strength,  continued  its  support,  but  her  heart  droop 
ed.  Cheerfulness  did  not  utterly  forsake  her,  yet 
she  discharged  the  habitual  round  of  duties  as  one 
who  felt  that  the  "  glory  had  departed." 

How  beautiful  and  characteristic  was  her  reply 
to  the  solicitations  of  the  highest  authority  of  the 
nation,  that  the  remains  of  her  illustrious  husband 
might  be  removed  to  the  seat  of  government,  and  a 
monument  erected  to  mark  the  spot  of  their  repose. 

"  Taught  by  the  great  example  which  I  have  had 
so  long  before  me,  never  to  oppose  my  private  wish 
es  to  the  will  of  my  country,  I  consent  to  the  request 
made  by  Congress  ;  and,  in  doing  this,  I  need  not,  I 
can  not  say  what  a  sacrifice  of  individual  feeling  I 
make  to  a  sense  of  public  duty." 

The  intention  of  the  Congress  of  1799  has  not 
been  executed,  nor  the  proposed  monument  erected. 
The  enthusiasm  of  the  time  passed  away,  and  the 
many  and  conflicting  cares  of  a  great  nation  turned 
its  •  thoughts  from  thus  perpetuating  his  memory, 
whose  image,  it  trusted,  would  be  embalmed  by  an 
imperishable  gratitude. 

Scarcely  were  two  years  of  her  lonely  widowhood 
accomplished  ere  the  Lady  of  Mount  Vernon  felt 
the  approach  of  death.  Gathering  her  family  around 
S 


206  THE    LADY    OF    MOUNT    V  E  R  X  O  X. 


her,  she  impressed  on  them  the  value  of  that  religion 
which  from  youth  she  had  trusted,  and  loved  onward 
to  hoary  hairs  ;  then  calmly  resigning  her  soul  into 
the  hands  of  Him  who  gave  it,  full  of  years  and  full 
of  honors,  she  was  laid  in  the  tomb  of  Washington. 

In  this  outline  of  the  lineaments  of  the  Lady  of 
Mount  Vcrnon,  we  perceive  that  it  was  neither  the 
beauty  with  which  she  was  endowed,  nor  the  high 
station  which  she  attained, that  gave  enduring  lustre 
to  her  character,  but  her  Clmstian  fidelity  in  those 
duties  which  devolve  upon  her  sex.  These  fitted 
her  to  irradiate  the  home,  to  lighten  the  cares,  to 
cheer  the  anxieties,  to  sublimate  the  enjoyments  of 
him  who,  in  the  expressive  language  of  Chief-justice 
Marshall,  was  "  so  favored  of  Heaven  as  to  depart 
without  exhibiting  the  weakness  of  humanity." 

Though  this  slight  sketch  can  boast  no  element  of 

O  O 

attraction  for  the  lover  of  romance,  yet  the  symmetry 
of  her  character  whom  it  aims  to  portray,  and  her 
identification  with  him  whom  all  delight  to  honor, 
should  claim  a  place  in  the  lasting  remembrance  and 
love  of  the  American  people. 


A  TALE   OF   POLAND. 


'  Oli !  moments  to  others,  but  ages  to  me, 
I  have  sate  with  the  brow  of  the  dead  on  my  knee ; 
In  the  purple  of  eve,  at  the  flashing  of  morn, 
I  have  bent  o'er  the  cherish'd,  that  left  me  forlorn, 
And  I  gazed  on  the  dimness  that  froze  in  the  eye, 
So  bright  in  its  burning,  its  glances  so  high, 
And  I  watch'd  the  Consumer,  as  ever  he  crept, 
And  feasted  where  beauty  and  glory  had  slept." 

RANSOM. 


A  TALE   OF  POLAND, 


AMONG  the  pleasant  abodes  which,  during  the  hap 
pier  days  of  Poland,  diversified  the  suburbs  of  War 
saw,  was  one  which  always  attracted  the  attention  of 
the  traveler.  It  was  less  distinguished  by  splendor 
than  by  that  combination  of  elegance  with  simplicity 
not  common  in  a  country  where  the  palace  and  the 
hut,  standing  side  by  side,  contrasted  the  extremes 
of  opulence  and  poverty.  Situated  on  a  gentle  em 
inence,  overshadowed  by  trees,  and  imbosomed  in 
shrubbery,  it  seemed  modestly  seeking  to  hide  its 
own  elevation.  A  dark  forest  in  the  background 
strongly  defined  the  outline  of  its  white  turrets,  while 
the  sighing  sound  of  the  wind  through  the  branches 
mingled  with  the  murmurs  of  the  neighboring  Vistula 
like  melancholy  music. 

This  sweetly  rural  retreat  was  the  residence  of 
John  Radzivil,  a  descendant  from  the  ancient  nobili 
ty  of  Poland.  Nurtured  in  the  loftiness  of  liberty, 
there  was  ever  upon  his  brow  a  painful  conscious 
ness  of  the  subjugation  of  his  country.  Burying  him 
self  in  retirement,  he  turned  his  attention  to  such 
pursuits  as  might  not  rouse  the  jealousy  of  despotism, 
though  the  temper  of  his  mind  was  rather  to  court 
14  S  2 


210  A    T  A  L  E    O  F    P  O  L  A  N  D. 


the  storm  than  to  cower  beneath  it.  The  dismem 
berment  of  his  native  realm,  her  loss  of  a  seat  among 
the  nations,  and  the  oppressive  dynasty  of  Russia, 
darkened  his  meditations  and  imbittered  his  solitude. 
But  in  his  own  home  was  a  spirit  of  peace,  sug 
gesting  endurance,  or  striving  to  awaken  hope.  Ulri 
ca,  the  gentle  and  beautiful  one,  with  whom  a  union 
of  ten  years  had  left  his  love  unimpaired,  employed 
the  whole  force  of  her  influence  to  win  him  from 
melancholy  themes.  Deep  acquaintance  with  his 
toric  lore,  and  warm  native  sympathies,  led  her  feel 
ingly  to  deplore  the  immolation  of  her  country  ;  but 
the  spirit  of  piety  which  had  taken  possession  of  her 
soul  taught  her  to  deprecate  every  vengeful  and  hos 
tile  purpose,  and  to  view  the  voluntary  shedding  of 
blood,  not  only  as  an  evil  to  be  dreaded,  but  as  a 
sin  to  be  shunned.  Capable  of  appreciating  the 
higher  and  bolder  energies,  her  happiness  was  im- 
bosomed  in  domestic  duties  and  affections,  and  she 

i  sought  to  inspire  all  her  household  with  that  love 
of  peace  which  preserves  the  fountains  of  bliss  un- 

j  troubled.  It  was  her  delight  to  lull  her  infant  with 
such  low,  quiet  music,  that  sleep  would  hang  long 
suspended  upon  the  half-closed  lids,  itself  a  listener. 
Even  the  little  trusting  sparrow,  that  in  pursuit  of 

i    qrumbs  had  ventured  to  pass  the  threshold,  would 

I  seem  to  linger  at  the  sound  of  those  exquisite  melo 
dies,  standing  long  upon  one  foot,  and  turning  its 
head  rapidly  from  side  to  side,  as  if  longing  to  bear 
to  the  children  of  its  own  nest  those  soothinsr  and 


A    TALE    OF    POLAND.  211 

tuneful  strains.  She  loved  to  instruct  her  daughter 
in  those  accomplishments  that  render  home  delight 
ful,  and  by  the  influence  of  a  sweet,  subduing  smile 
to  recall  her  if  her  young  spirit  wandered  or  was 
weary.  But  most  of  all,  she  loved  to  cheer  his  des 
pondence  whose  heart  reposed  its  confidence  on  hers  ; 
and  when  it  encountered  those  thorns  and  brambles 
with  which  the  curse  of  Adam  hath  sown  the  earth, 
to  restore  in  its  own  sanctuary  some  image  of  cloud 
less  Eden.  Yet  their  bower  of  bliss  was  not  free 
from  the  intrusion  of  care.  Ulrica  felt  deep  anxiety 
for  her  little  son,  in  whom  she  could  not  but  perceive 
the  incipient  tastes  of  a  warrior.  The  piercing  eye 
and  raven  locks,  which  he  inherited  from  his  father, 
gave  to  the  exceeding  beauty  of  his  childhood  a  lofty 
expression,  which  no  beholder  could  witness  without 
repeating  the  gaze  of  admiration.  His  mother,  dis 
cerning  the  structure  of  his  mind  in  infancy,  labored 
continually  to  stamp  upon  its  waxen  tablet  the  im 
press  of  peace.  Even  then  the  ground  seemed  pre 
occupied.  Every  leaf  of  olive  that  she  cherished 
was  plucked  as  if  by  an  invisible  hand.  Often,  when 
she  flattered  herself  that  the  warbled  melody  of  some 
sacred  lay  had  reached  and  won  his  soul,  he  would 
suddenly  raise  his  head  from  her  bosom,  and  say, 

"  Sing  me  the  battle  song  of  Sobieski,  when  he 
rushed  upon  the  Turk  ;  it  is  far  finer  music." 

Sometimes,  when  she  narrated  from  the  Blessed 
Volume  the  lives  of  the  men  of  peace,  of  the  apos 
tles,  who  went  forth  bearing  the  precious  Gospel,  and 


212  A    TALE    OF    POLAND. 


of  heaven's  hymn,  sung  by  angels  to  the  watching 
shepherds  when  the  Redeemer  of  sinners  was  born, 
he  would  exclaim, 

"  Tell  me  now  of  him  who  slew  the  Egyptian  when 
he  saw  him  mocking  his  people,  and  of  the  stripling 
who  beheaded  the  giant,  and  of  that  glorious  warri 
or  who  bade  the  sun  and  the  moon  to  stand  still  in 
their  courses,  that  he  might  have  light,  and  a  long 
day  to  destroy  his  enemies." 

The  oppressive  government  of  the  Grand -duke 
Constantino  became  every  day  more  intolerable.  It 
assumed  the  worst  forms  of  wanton  cruelty.  Sur 
rounded  by  his  Russian  minions,  he  took  delight  in 
humbling  the  nobility  of  Poland,  subjecting  them  to 
causeless  penalties  and  offensive  vassalage.  In  ad 
dition  to  these  brutal  abuses  of  power,  a  system  of 
espionage  was  established  in  Warsaw,  so  strict  that 
home  was  no  sanctuary.  It  extended  even  to  the 
schools.  He  was  not  ashamed  to  employ  emissaries 
and  reporters  among  infants.  He  desired  to  crush 
in  the  bud  every  indication  of  the  love  of  liberty. 
Even  the  enthusiasm  that  lingered  around  the  fallen 
glory  of  Poland  was  visited  as  a  crime  ;  and  trem 
bling  History  hid  her  annal  from  the  eye  of  Despot 
ism. 

A  boy  had  inscribed  on  his  seat  in  school  the  date 
of  some  event  distinguished  in  the  recoixl  of  his  coun 
try.  This  circumstance  was  deemed  of  sufficient  im 
portance  to  be  transmitted  to  Constantino,  who  sen 
tenced  him  to  be  torn  from  his  parents  and  placed 


A    TALE    OF    POLAND. 

213 

for  life  in  the  lowest  ranks  of  the  army,  yet  held  in 
capable  of  advancement.  The  unhappy  mother  sought 
long  and  vainly  for  an  audience.  Once,  when  leav 
ing  his  palace  for  an  excursion  of  pleasure,  she  threw 
herself  at  his  feet,  imploring,  in  the  most  piercing 
accents,  mitigation  of  the  doom  of  her  miserable  child. 
Provoked  at  her  perseverance,  he  spurned  her  with 
his  foot,  and  deigning  no  reply,  ascended  his  car 
riage.  It  is  not  surprising  that  such  arbitrary  deeds 
should  affect  with  peculiar  sympathy  the  mother  of 
young  Radzivil.  She  knew  the  unconquerable  bold 
ness  of  the  boy,  and  her  nights  were  sleepless  with 
dread  lest  he,  too,  should  be  marked  as  a  victim  for 
the  tyrant.  She  communicated  her  fears  to  her  hus 
band. 

"Ulrica,"  he  replied,  gravely,  "the  current  of  the 
boy's  soul  is  deep  beyond  his  years.  The  soaring 
eaglet  may  not  be  restrained  by  the  plaintive  mur 
mur  of  the  dove." 

But  Ulrica  daily  counseled  her  son.  She  strove. to 
press  into  his  soul  the  precepts  of  that  religion  which 
forbids  retaliation.  She  selected  from  history  the  ex 
amples  of  those  princes  and  statesmen  whose  pacific 
policy  promoted  the  prosperity  of  their  realm,  and 
the  happiness  of  their  people.  She  simplified  for 
him  the  most  exquisite  passages  of  those  ancient 
philosophers,  who  extol  the  excellence  of  patient  vir 
tue  and  serene  contemplation.  She  exerted  all  of 
woman's  eloquence,  and  of  a  mother's  love,  to  make 
his  young  soul  a  listener  and  a  convert. 


214  A    TALE    OF    POLAND. 


"  Mother,  when  I  was  at  Cracow  with  my  father,  I 
visited  in  the  Cathedral  the  tombs  of  our  ancient  he 
roes.  I  found  where  Sobieski  lies.  I  stood  long 
at  the  tomb  of  Kosciusko.  The  light  faded,  and 
darkness  began  to  settle  upon  the  lofty  and  solemn 
arches  while  I  stood  there.  Methought  a  voice  came 
forth  from  these  ashes  and  talked  with  me  of  his  glory, 
of  his  sufferings,  and  of  the  Russian  prisons  where 
he  so  long  pined.  And  then  it  seemed  as  if  he  him 
self  stood  before  me,  that  brave  old  man,  covered 
with  scars,  and  with  the  tears  of  Poland  ;  and  ere  I 
was  aware,  I  said,  I  will  love  Kosciusko,  and  hate 
Russia  forever." 

Ulrica  gazed  silently  upon  the  boy.  She  had  nev 
er  seen  any  thing  so  beautiful  as  that  lofty  and  pure 
brow,  inspired  with  emotions  defying  utterance.  His 
full  eye  cast  forth  a  flood  of  living  lustre,  and  his 
graceful  form  rose  higher  as  he  ceased  to  speak.  Not 
Hannibal,  when,  in  the  presence  of  Hamilcar,  he 
uttered  the  vow  of  eternal  hatred  to  Rome,  could 
have  evinced  more  strongly  how  the  soul  may  lift  up 
the  features  of  childhood  into  a  commanding  and  ter 
rible  beauty.  The  mother  wondered  at  the  strange 
awe  that  stole  over  her.  She  almost  trembled  to  en 
ter  the  sanctuary  of  that  mind,  lest  she  might  dis 
place  imagery  that  Heaven  had  consecrated,  or  lay 
her  hand  unwittingly  upon  the  very  ark  of  God. 
For  a  moment  she  thought,  what  if  this  being,  so 
mighty  even  in  his  simple  elements,  should  be  the 
decreed  deliverer  of  his  oppressed  country  ! 


A    TALE    OF    POLAND.  215 

It  was  but  a  moment  that  this  enthusiasm  prevail 
ed.  The  boy  saw  the  tears  glittering  in  her  eye, 
and  hastened  to  throw  himself  upon  her  neck. 

"  Mother,  I  will  no  longer  sing  the  songs  of  So- 
bieski,  nor  speak  to  my  companions  of  Pulaski  or 
Kosciusko,  since  it  gives  you  pain.  But  when  I  see 
the  proud  Russian  soldiers  parading  in  the  squares 
at  Warsaw,  and  Constantino  lording  it  over  our  peo 
ple,  can  I  help  my  heart  from  rising  up,  and  the 
blood  from  feeling  hot  in  my  forehead  ]" 

The  features  of  the  Russian  dynasty  continued  to 
gather  harshness  and  asperity.  The  grand-duke  be 
came  daily  more  odious  to  the  people  he  ruled.  Con 
scious  of  unpopularity,  and  partaking  of  that  distrust 
which  ever  haunts  tyranny,  he  retired  from  the  royal 
palace  to  one  in  the  vicinity  of  Warsaw,  where  he 
might  be  under  the  immediate  protection  of  his  own 
troops.  It  was  no  satisfaction  to  the  Radzivil  family 
that  the  new  abode  of  Constantino  was  in  their  own 
immediate  neighborhood.  Still  trusting  to  find  safety 
in  seclusion,  they  devoted  themselves  to  the  nurture 
of  their  children,  and  to  the  varieties  of  rural  ex 
istence. 

Autumn  was  now  deepening  to  its  close.  The 
voice  of  the  Vistula,  swollen  by  rains,  became  more 
audible,  hoarsely  chafing  against  its  banks.  Nature, 
at  the  approach  of  her  dreariest  season,  disrobes  of 
their  gayety  even  her  inanimate  offspring,  and  pours 
heaviness  into  the  hearts  of  the  animal  creation.  The 
elk,  roaming  with  his  branching  horns  through  the 


216  A    TALE    OF    POLAND. 

forest,  bore  upon  his  aspect  an  expression  of  deep 
melancholy.  The  titmouse,  whose  pendulous  nest 
studded  the  branches,  forgetting  its  irascible  temper, 
and  disappointed  in  its  supply  of  aquatic  insects, 
gathered  with  drooping  wing  around  the  peasant's 
cottages  in  quest  of  other  food.  The  bobac  prepared 
a  soft  lining  for  its  subterranean  cell,  and  gathered 
its  gregarious  community  for  the  long  sequestration 
of  winter.  But  where  shall  the  human  race  find  ref 
uge  from  strife  and  oppression  ]  Earth  hath  no  re 
cess  where  "man's  inhumanity  to  man"  may  not  pen 
etrate. 

It  was  near  the  close  of  one  of  the  shortening  and 
gloomy  days  that  Ulrica  became  alarmed  at  the  ab 
sence  of  her  son.  He  had  prolonged  his  usual  walk 
with  his  little  sister  about  his  father's  grounds,  and 
she  had  returned  without  him.  As  this  was  of  fre 
quent  occurrence,  it  would  scarcely  have  excited  ob 
servation,  but  for  the  heightened  state  of  maternal 
solicitude.  The  bold  bearing  of  the  boy,  and  his 
denunciations  of  tyranny,  had  signalized  him  among 
his  companions,  and  induced  his  parents  to  withdraw 
him  from  the  public  school.  They  had  also  deemed 
it  prudent,  since  the  royal  residence  had  been  placed 
in  their  vicinity,  to  interdict  his  leaving  their  own 
domain  without  an  attendant. 

Now  twilight  darkened,  and  he  returned  not.  The 
earnest  search  of  the  whole  household  was  in  vain. 
Little  Ulrica  watched  and  listened  for  his  footsteps 
till  the  curtains  were  drawn  and  the  lamps  lighted, 


A    TALE    OF    POLAND.  217 

and  then  retired  to  her  bed  to  \veep.  All  the  ma 
chinery  that  agonized  affection  could  command  was 
put  in  requisition.  But  the  most  persevering  efforts 
could  obtain  no  tidings,  save  that  a  child  had  been 
seen  hurried  toward  the  palace  by  two  Russian  sol 
diers,  and  apparently  resisting  their  purpose.  The 
whole  influence  of  an  ancient  and  noble  family  was 
made  to  bear  upon  the  "recovery  of  this  beloved  rep 
resentative,  only  to  reveal  its  utter  inefficacy.  In 
quiry,  reward,  and  menace  were  alike  powerless. 
The  system  of  the  despot  was  a  sealed  book.  "  I 
will  myself  go  to  the  duke,"  said  Ulrica  to  her  hus 
band.  "  God  has  given  him  a  human  heart.  Who 
can  say  but  it  may  in  some  point  be  vulnerable  to 
compassion  ]" 

John  Radzivil  felt  that  such  an  appeal  was  hope 
less.  Yet,  as  a  drowning  man  rejects  not  the  straw 
floating  on  the  element  that  destroys  him,  he  for 
bore  to  dissuade  her  from  the  enterprise. 

The  next  morning  the  suffering  mother  sought  the 
palace  of  Constantine.  She  went  under  the  protec 
tion  of  Count  Turno,  a  Polish  nobleman,  who  had 
for  years  maintained  a  degree  of  ascendency  over 
the  mind  of  the  duke,  and  was  sometimes  able  to 
soften  the  violence  of  his  measures.  By  a  singular 
combination  of  talent,  and  an  accurate  knowledge  of 
the  hidden  springs  of  action,  he  had  succeeded  in 
gaining  the  confidence  of  the  tyrant,  without  the  sac 
rifice  of  either  integrity  or  honor.  But  consummate 
prudence  was  requisite  to  maintain  a  post  so  hazard- 
T 


218  A    TALE    OF    POL  AND. 

ous.  On  the  present  occasion  he  dared  venture  only 
to  introduce  the  suppliant,  and  to  repeat  the  injunc 
tion  that  her  words  should  be  few.  Open  interfer 
ence  on  his  part  would,  he  knew,  be  fatal  to  the 
cause  in  which  both  his  patriotism  and  his  early 
friendship  for  the  Radzivil  family  deeply  participated. 

When  Ulrica  entered  the  chamber  of  audience, 
the  grand-duke  turned  away,  as  if  determined  to 
avoid  her.  Then  his  blue  eye  settled  for  a  moment 
on  her,  cold  as  Russian  snows.  Arrested  by  her 
beauty  and  dignified  deportment,  aided  in  their  ef 
fect  by  the  rich  and  becoming  costume  of  the  Polish 
nobility,  he  reluctantly,  though  not  ungracefully,  gave 
attention. 

"  Great  prince,  you  see  before  you  the  wife  of 
John  Radzivil.  She  seeks  your  presence  a  wretch 
ed  suppliant  for  her  lost  son.  These  three  days  and 
nights  our  search  for  him  has  been  unremitting,  but 
in  vain.  He  was  last  seen  in  charge  of  two  of  the 
soldiers  of  your  guard.  Let  me  .supplicate  your 
clemency  to  give  orders  for  his  restoration." 

"  Madam,  the  commission  under  which  I  act,  takes 
no  cognizance  of  wandering  babes.  I  supposed  that 
the  mothers  of  Poland  better  undei'stood  both  mv 
duties  and  their  own." 

"  Sire,  our  lost  one  was  but  a  child.  He  had  not 
numbered  ten  winters.  If  he  was  guilty  of  folly  or 
rashness,  I  beseech  you  to  restore  him  to  his  parents, 
that  they  may  carefully  instruct  him  not  again  to  of 
fend." 


ATA  I.  EOF    POLAND.  219 

The  haughty  lip  of  Constantine  curled  as  he  spoke. 

"  You  were  in  truth  nourishing  a  viper.  If  his 
venom  has  chanced  to  fall  upon  yourselves,  look  to 
it.  Fill  not  my  ears  with  your  complaints.  He  was 
a  rebel,  and  a  ripe  one,  though  so  young  in  years." 

Ulrica  fell  on  her  knees,  and,  raising  her  clasped 
hands,  exclaimed, 

"  Spare  the  life  of  the  child  !  A  broken-hearted 
mother  implores  your  pity  for  her  only  son.  So 
shall  the  Judge  and  Father  of  us  all,  be  merciful  to 
you  in  your  time  of  adversity." 

"  Take  away  this  mad  woman,"  said  Constantine 
to  his  attendants.  "  Turno,  is  there  never  to  be  an 
end  of  these  Polish  maniacs  1" 

Ulrica  rose  and  returned  to  her  home.  She  ut 
tered  no  complaint.  There  was  a  strength  in  her 
sorrow  that  refused  the  channel  of  words.  Radzivil 
saw  in  the  fixed  glance  of  her  eye  that  hope  had  de 
parted. 

"  Ulrica,  seek  to  bind  me  no  longer  at  the  footstool 
of  peace.  As  the  Lord  liveth,  it  shall  no  more  be 
peace,  but  a  sword.  There  is  a  point  beyond  which 
endurance  is  sin.  Poland  stands  upon  that  verge. 
The  tyrant  shall  fall.  Faithful  and  proud  hearts 
have  sworn  it.  I  will  no  longer  withhold  myself 
fi'om  their  covenant.  My  soul  has  lain  still,  and 
smothered  its  hatred  for  your  sake.  Your  sighs  of 
peace  have  stolen  over  it  like  the  breath  of  flowers, 
weakening  its  purpose.  My  counsel  of  submission 
has  been  my  reproach  among  patriots.  They  have 


220  A  TALI;  OF  POLAND. 

called  it  my  watchword.  Their  brows  grew  dark 
when  I  uttered  it.  It  was  your  spirit  breathing 
through  my  lips.  I  deemed  it  the  spirit  of  Heaven, 
and  bade  the  wrath  of  the  warrior  that  boiled  in  my 
breast  bow  down  before  it.  Henceforth  I  cast  away 
its  chains.  I  wear  no  longer  the  yoke  of  a  craven 
policy.  I  will  resist  unto  blood — unto  death.  And 
may  God  so  deal  with  me  as  I  do  valiantly  for  Po 
land." 

The  discontent,  which  had  been  but  ill-suppressed 
in  the  bosoms  of  a  free  people,  burst  forth.  Plans 
long  fostered  in  their  nightly  conclaves  came  sud 
denly  to  maturity.  On  the  evening  of  November 
29th,  1830,  the  beacon  light  sprang  up  on  the  banks 
of  the  Vistula.  The  concerted  signal  had  been  the 
burning  of  a  house,  on  the  borders  of  that  river,  at 
the  hour  of  seven.  The  clocks  of  Warsaw  struck 
seven.  How  many  hearts  struggled  with  unuttera 
ble  emotion  at  that  sound  ! 

The  expected  flame  threw  out  its  red  banner. 
The  shout  of  "  To  arms!"  came  with  that  flash,  as 
thunder  follows  the  lightning.  Throngs  of  patriots 
were  at  their  appointed  posts.  Officers  rode  through 
the  streets  inspiring  the  people.  Students,  and  boys 
from  the  schools  in  warlike  array,  marched  to  the 
headquarters  of  the  enemy.  The  rush  was  tremen 
dous.  Two  thousand  Russian  cavalry,  panic-struck, 
dispersed.  The  grand-duke  threw  himself  fi-om  the 
window  of  his  palace,  and,  aided  by  darkness  and 
disguise,  escaped.  The  gates  of  the  city  were  in 

. ___ . | 


A    TALE    OF    POLAND.  221 

possession  of  the  patriots.  The  prisons  were  stormed. 
Multitudes  of  pale,  emaciated  victims  came  forth,  as 
tonished,  from  their  dungeons,  as  the  dead  once  min 
gled  with  the  living,  when  strange  darkness  hung 
over  Calvary. 

At  midnight,  Poland  paused  amid  the  miracle  of 
her  Revolution,  and,  kneeling,  gave  thanks  to  Jeho 
vah.  It  was  a  moment  of  sublimity,  when  that  im 
mense  multitude,  rendered  visible  by  the  red  torch 
light,  humbled  themselves  to  earth,  and,  amid  the 
most  impassioned  joy,  swelled  the  response  of 
"Praise  to  God — to  God  the  deliverer!" 

The  next  morning  brought  Ulrica  a  note  from  her 
husband. 

"  Warsaw  is  ours !  no  Russian  foot  pollutes  it. 
Poland  breathes  once  more  in  freedom  the  air  of  her 
own  capital.  Every  spot  overflows  with  rejoicing 
people.  Old  hoary-headed  men  give  us  their  bless 
ing,  and  children  brandish  their  weapons  with  the 
shrill  cry  of  liberty.  As  for  me,  I  am  searching  ev 
ery  dungeon,  every  fastness,  every  den,  where  it  is 
possible  for  despotism  to  have  incarcerated  our  brave, 
our  beautiful  one.  I  will  return  no  more  to  my  house 
until  I  restore  him  to  your  arms,  or  whisper  in  your 
ear  those  words,  less  appalling  than  our  suspense,  he 
is  no  more." 

All  day  long,  while  acclamations  rent  the  air,  and 

the  peasantry  by  thousands  were  flocking  into  the 

city  to  hail  the  men  who  had  delivered  their  country, 

Ulrica  sat  still  in  the  house.     One  deep,  measureless, 

T  2 


222  A    TALE     OF    POLAND. 

inexpressible  emotion  absorbed  all  lesser  sympathies. 
At  every  footstep,  at  the  echo  of  every  voice,  her 
heart,  like  the  mimosa,  shrank,  trembled,  folded  it 
self.  The  hours  seemed  interminable. 

At  length  twilight  approached,  evening  darkened. 
Even  her  chastened  spirit  revolted  at  the  prospect  of 
passing  another  night  of  unmitigated  suspense.  Her 
children  slumbered.  There  was  no  sound  save  of 
their  quiet  breathing.  She  looked  out  upon  the  sol 
emn  stars,  and  strove  to  rise  above  them  in  commun 
ion  with  their  Maker.  Suddenly  there  was  a  tramp 
ling  of  horses  in  the  court-yard.  The  power  of  mo 
tion  deserted  her.  The  next  moment,  Radzivil  was 
in  her  apartment.  He  laid  on  the  bed  something 
wrapped  in  a  cloak,  and  for  a  moment  restrained  her 
in  his  arms  as  she  was  rushing  toward  it. 

"  My  son  !  my  son  !  speak.  Radzivil.  Tell  me  that 
he  lives  !" 

"  He  lives,  Ulrica  ;  but  the  life  of  life  is  fled.  It 
were  a  lighter  thing  to  have  seen  him  in  the  sleep  of 
death." 

Perceiving  that  she  would  no  longer  be  withheld, 
he  uncovered  the  face.  Ail  the  fortitude  that  she  had 
invoked  from  above  was  needful  for  that  moment. 
Emaciated,  haggard,  his  beautiful  hair  shorn  close  to 
his  head,  his  eye  devoid  of  lustre  or  intelligence,  and 
every  feature  apparently  transmuted  to  portray  the 
dull,  dreaming,  hideous  contortions  of  idiocy. 

Yet  he  still  breathed  ;  and  with  that  consciousness 
hope,  the  comforter,  came  into  the  heart  of  the  moth- 


A    TALE    OF    POLAND.  223 

er.  The  heart  of  the  mother  !  that  only  heart  whose 
love  falters  not  "  under  the  cloud  or  through  the  sea," 
till  death  smites  down  its  idol.  Even  then  it  resigns 
hope  only  to  call  forth  a  memory  which,  tender  as 
love  itself,  gathers,  like  the  winged  chemist  of  the 
air,  honeyed  essence  from  thorn-clad  and  unsightly 
plants. 

Ulrica  perceived  that  to  her  embraces  there  was 
no  response,  to  her  words  no  answer.  Food  the 
famished  boy  received  voraciously,  and  with  a  wolf- 
like  appetite,  yet  regarded  not  the  hand  that  gave  it. 
All  the  accustomed  avenues  to  the  soul  seemed  irrev 
ocably  closed. 

"  By  what  excesses  of  diabolical  cruelty,"  said  the 
father,  "  could  they  thus  have  completed  the  wreck 
of  one  of  the  most  noble  and  beautiful  beings  ever 
born  of  woman  1  None  could  tell  me  aught  of  his 
history.  The  keepers  of  his  dungeon  were  what  they 
ought  to  be — corpses.  While  crowds  of  liberated 
and  ghastly  wretches  were  thronging  forth  to  the 
light  of  heaven,  I  descended  to  the  vaults  they  had 
left.  I  explored  them  until  I  became  almost  hope 
less.  At  last,  in  a  cold,  solitary  cell,  I  discovered 
this  ruin  of  humanity.  Nothing  but  parental  instinct 
could  have  guided  me  to  that  hidden  recess,  or  con 
vinced  me  that  this  was  indeed  my  own  son.  To 
my  caresses,  to  the  maddened  anguish  with  which  I 
repeated  his  name,  he  spoke  nothing.  He  moved 
not.  But  when  I  raised  him  in  my  arms  he  strug 
gled  and  contended.  Then  I  perceived  that  his  ex- 


L. 


224  A    T  A  L  E    O  F    I>  O  L  A  N  D. 

haustion  was  not  physical.  I  still  trusted  that  the 
disease  which  had  changed  him  might  be  healed. 
But  when  we  brought  him  forth  to  the  sunbeam, 
gazing  into  his  eyes,  I  saw  that  the  mind  had  fled 
forever." 

A  deep  vow  of  implacable  vengeance  closed  the 
agonized  recital. 

"  Radzivil,  beloved,  look  not  so  wildly.  I  pray 
you,  speak  not  thus  rashly.  Our  son  may  yet  recov 
er  to  bless  us." 

On  these  holy  promptings  of  love  and  hope  the 
mother  acted.  Night  and  day  she  nursed  the  miser 
able  boy.  With  consummate  prudence  she  adminis 
tered  that  nourishment  which  his  exhausted  state  ren 
dered  both  necessary  and  hazardous.  She  rocked 
him  in  her  arms,  as  in  his  infancy,  holding  his  head 
for  hours  on  her  bosom,  sometimes  murmuring  soft 
ly  and  tunefully  in  his  ear,  as  if  she  would  breathe 
into  him  her  own  soul.  Occasionally  she  fancied  that 
there  was  a  quickening  of  the  mind,  and  then  poured 
forth  that  inspiring  music  which  harmonized  with  its 
native  structure,  and  was  wont  to  heighten  the  glad 
ness  of  his  childhood  to  ecstasy.  The  songs  of  So- 
bieski  rang  as  exultingly  through  his  chamber,  as  if 
they  rose  not  from  a  breaking  heart.  It  was  in  vain. 
The  chords  of  melody  might  be  touched  no  more. 
Still  thei  tender  eye  that  had  scanned  acutely  the  el 
ements  of  his  nature,  would  not  believe  that  its  deep 
and  strong  affections  had  become  extinct.  Her  fair 
infant  had  formerly  been  his  last  thought  at  night, 


A    TALE    OF    POLAND.  225 

his  first  in  the  morning.  To  lull  it  himself  to  sleep, 
and  to  elicit  its  gay  shout  of  mirth  at  waking,  were 
among  the  objects  of  his  childish  ambition.  The 
mother  laid  it  upon  his  lap,  and  it  smiled  on  him  ; 
but  he  extended  no  arm  to  receive  it :  he  writhed, 
as  if  to  free  himself  from  a  burden.  He  evinced 
neither  desire  nor  dislike,  but  that  fearful  inanity, 
that  deadness  to  all  emotion,  that  groveling  and  grow 
ing  likeness  to  material  things  which  are  among  the 
most  appalling  indications  of  lapsed  intellect. 

His  little  sister,  whom  from  her  birth  he  had  loved 
as  himself,  was  ever  by  his  side.  She  twined  her 
arms  about  his  neck,  but  he  was  uneasy  at  their  press 
ure.  She  laid  her  hand  gently  upon  his  head,  and 
wept  at  the  absence  of  those  clustering  curls  that 
were  once  her  admiration  and  pride.  She  gazed 
long  and  earnestly  in  his  eyes  with  tears  standing  in 
her  own,  like  big  rain-drops  in  the  violet's  heart. 
She  spoke  long,  in  her  sweetly  modulated  tones,  of 
their  sports,  of  their  walks  together,  of  the  wild  flow 
ers  they  had  found  in  their  own  secret  places,  and  of 
the  stories  he  had  told  her  of  the  daring  of  Pulaski 
and  Kosciusko. 

"  Shall  we  not  pursue  each  other  again,  dear  broth 
er,  through  the  garden  walks  ]  and  will  you  launch 
your  boat  on  the  little  stream  that  runs  so  swiftly  to 
ward  the  Vistula  1  And  shall  the  baby  clap  its  little 
hands  when  you  brandish  your  mimic  sword  ?  And 
will  we  say  our  nightly  prayers  again  with  one  voice, 
kneeling  down  by  our  mother  V 
15 


226  A    TALE    OF    POLAND. 

Every  effort  of  the  ardent  child  ended  in  disap 
pointment  :  not  a  single  glance  of  attention  rewarded 
her.  It  was  evident  that  the  links  between  thought 
and  speech  were  broken.  Even  those  faint  and  casu 
al  glimmerings  of  emotion  which,  though  causeless, 
had  served  feebly  to  unite  him  to  humanity  and  to 
hope,  gradually  disappeared.  There  had  been  some 
times  an  inarticulate  murmuring,  like  sullen  discon 
tent,  or  a  distortion  of  the  brow,  as  if  from  transient 
terror.  Even  these  were  precious  to  the  parents  who 
hung  over  his  couch,  as  the  dawn,  though  heavy  and 
ominous  with  clouds,  is  hailed  by  those  who  "  watch 
for  the  morning."  But  these  sad  signals  faded,  and 
nothing  remained  but  the  action  of  the  lungs,  the 
sluggish  current  in  the  veins,  the  aimless  movement 
of  the  muscles,  as  if  without  volition,  and  the  animal 
appetites  of  idiocy.  The  beauty,  which  he  had  once 
possessed  in  so  remarkable  a  degree  as  to  have  been 
pronounced  perfect,  vanished  with  the  emanations  of 
mind;  even  the  proportions  and  chiseling  of  the  clay 
lost  their  symmetry. 

At  length  death  came,  the  messenger  of  mercy. 
There  was  a  pitiful  and  unearthly  cry  from  that  col 
lapsed  heart  when  the  ice  entered  into  it;  but  no  ac 
cent,  no  pressure  of  the  hand,  for  affection  to  linger 
over  and  embalm.  One  ray  of  exceeding  brightness 
kindled  in  the  eye  :  it  was  the  spirit  passing  forth  in 
gladness  from  its  deep  eclipse.  Only  for  a  moment 
was  that  lustre  seen.  Then  there  were  bitter  gaspings 
and  stragglings,  as  of  the  swimmer  when  he  buffets 


A    TALE    OF    POLAND.  221 


the  fatal  wave.  So  that  even  love  besought  in  ago 
ny  the  release  of  what  it  had  worshiped.  And  that 
release  came. 

John  Radzivil  returned  from  the  obsequies  of  his 
first-born,  in  that  state  of  feeling  which  shuns  alike 
society  and  consolation.  Solitude  and  moody  silence 
were  his  choice.  Grief  seemed,  in  his  case,  to  lay 
aside  her  features  of  tenderness,  and  to  nerve  and 
harden  the  soul  for  some  gloomy,  unspoken  purpose. 
Ulrica  perceived  that  his  mind  was  brooding  over 
plans  of  vengeance,  and  exerted  all  her  influence  to 
soothe  and  disinthrall  it.  She  suffered  not  her  own 
sorrow  to  sadden  her  deportment,  that  her  devotion 
to  his  comfort  might  be  the  more  exclusive.  She 
,  gradually  incorporated  the  softened  tones  of  her  voice, 
like  the  sigh  of  the  "  sweet  south,"  with  his  medita 
tions,  hoping  to  infuse  a  healing  principle  into  the 
current  of  his  diseased,  tumultuous  thought.  She 
pointed  out  the  sources  of  happiness  that  still  remain 
ed  to  them,  and  endeavored  to  excite  the  healthful 
emotions  of  gratitude  to  an  Almighty  Friend.  She 
spoke  fervently  of  the  peace  and  independence  of 
their  country,  and  pressed  him,  by  the  love  he  bore 
to  her  and  their  surviving  children,  to  withhold  him 
self  from  any  future  scene  of  dissension,  and  yield 
his  sorrows  to  the  solace  of  domestic  retirement  and 
felicity.  She  dwelt  eloquently  on  the  tendencies  of 
war  to  extinguish  the  finer  sensibilities,  to  destroy  the 
capacities  of  rational  happiness,  to  stimulate  evil  pas 
sions,  to  uproot  the  precepts  and  spirit  of  the  Gospel ; 


228  A    TALE    OF    POLAND. 


but  she  shuddered  to  hear  him  repeat,  with  unwont 
ed  sternness,  his  determined  vow  of  revenge. 

"  You  say  that  Poland  is  relieved  from  despotism  ; 
that  patriotism  no  longer  requires  of  me  a  warrior's 
service.  You  say,  '  our  son  is  dead  :  can  we  bring 
him  back  again  ]'  Your  reasoning  is  from  the  weak 
ness  of  woman's  nature;  as  if  there  were  no  stronger 
impulse  in  the  breast  of  man  than  love  of  country 
or  hope  of  selfish  gain.  Is  it  possible  that  you  can 
stand  upon  the  tomb  of  that  beautiful,  martyred  being, 
and  hear  no  deeper  language  than  the  perpetual 
whisper  of  peace,  peace  !  Till  his  murder  is  fully 
avenged  in  the  best  blood  of  Russia,  speak  no  more 
to  me  of  repose.  I  have  sworn  that  my  sword  shall 
never  be  sheathed  while  Constantino  cumbers  the 
earth." 

Ulrica  could  no  longer  conceal  from  herself  that 
the  desire  of  revenge  was  consuming  the  energies  of 
his  existence  with  the  eagerness  of  its  smothered 
flame  ;  and  there  was  soon  room  to  spend  itself  in 
the  way  of  blood  that  it  chose.  The  Emperor  of  Rus 
sia,  indignant  at  the  revolt  of  Poland  and  the  expul 
sion  of  his  brother,  sent  thither  an  army  of  two  hun 
dred  thousand  soldiers  to  enforce  subjection.  Scarce 
ly  had  two  months  transpired  since  the  lightning 
gleam  of  revolution  ere  this  reverse  came.  Every 
resource  was  opened,  every  nerve  in  tension,  to  resist 
domination.  Peasants  left  the  labors  of  husbandry, 
and,  if  too  poor  to  purchase  weapons,  armed  them 
selves  with  the  implements  of  agriculture.  Invert- 


A    TALE    OF    POLAND.  229 

ing  the  language  of  inspiration,  they  turned  their 
ploughshares  into  swords,  and  their  pruning-hooks 
into  spears.  Boys  fled  from  the  schools,  and,  forming 
themselves  into  platoons  and  phalanxes,  demanded 
enrollment  among  the  soldiery.  Women,  forgetting 
their  household  occupations,  and  the  privileges  of 
their  sex,  pressed  to  share  personally  in  the  perils  of 
war.  It  was  on  the  25th  of  January,  1831,  that  the 
Polish  troops  began  to  leave  Warsaw,  to  encounter 
the  immense  force  with  which  Russia  was  inundating 
their  land.  Delicate  and  beautiful  females  attended 
them  on  their  route  to  Praga,  inspiriting  them  by  their 
eloquence  and  enthusiasm.  Then  there  were  tender 
partings,  and  high,  patriotic  hopes,  and  agonizing  as 
pirations  of  piety,  that  submit  not  to  the  revealment 
of  words.  .Ulrica  saw  that  it  was  her  destiny  to  fol 
low  the  fortunes  of  a  warrior ;  and,  as  a  soul  in  al 
liance  with  heaven  may  compass  things  accounted 
impossible  on  earth,  she  determined  to  do  it  in  the 
spirit  of  peace.  She  left  her  delightful  abode,  and, 
with  her  children  and  a  single  servant,  went  forth  to 
adapt  her  movements  to  the  marches  of  the  army, 
that  she  might  be  a  comforter  to  her  husband  in  his 
toilsome  and  terrible  career.  But  with  what  discord 
did  the  din  of  battle  grate  upon  her  ear,  who  consid 
ered  even  the  accent  of  unkindness  a  dereliction  of 
the  Christian's  creed.  During  the  time  of  contest, 
she  retired  with  her  little  daughter  to  the  most  remote 
recess,  and,  clasping  her  infant  in  her  arms,  besought 
Divine  protection  for  the  endangered  husband  and 

u 


230  A    TALE    OF    POLAND. 

father.  When  the  tumult  of  conflict  subsided,  and 
she  was  convinced  that  no  injury  had  befallen  him, 
her  care  awoke  for  the  wounded  and  dying.  Forget 
ful  of  the  rank  and  affluence  in  which  she  had  been 
educated,  and  grateful  if  she  might  but  mitigate  one 
pang,  she  moved  like  a  ministering  spirit  among  eve 
ry  form  and  modification  of  misery. 

Spring  advanced  in  her  path  of  beauty ;  but  she 
could  not  win  man  from  war,  or  soften  him  to  love 
his  brother.  The  pure  breath  of  Spring  is  not  in  uni 
son  with  the  heart  that  cherishes  evil  passions.  The 
innocent  gladness  of  renovated  nature  is  a  reproof  to 
it,  and  her  hymn  of  sunbeams  a  mockery. 

Radzivil  found  it  impracticable  to  insure  the  com 
fortable  accommodation  of  his  family  during  the 
changes  and  chances  of  warfare.  Sometimes  their 
lodging  was  in  a  frail  tent,  at  others  in  some  dilapi 
dated  building,  always  liable  to  be  broken  up  and 
transferred  in  a  moment.  After  the  commencement 
of  summer,  they  were  for  a  considerable  period  ten 
ants  of  a  ruined  fortress,  open  to  the  winds  of  heaven. 

One  evening  he  was  seated  with  them  there,  after 
a  day  of  exposure  and  hardship.  Leaning  his  head 
on  his  hand,  he  contemplated  with  intense  and  mel 
ancholy  interest  a  group  so  dear  to  him.  Ulrica,  in 
a  costume  as  humble  as  her  station  required,  tender 
ly  conversed  with  her  daughter,  clinging  closely  to 
her  side,  while  the  infant  lay  in  a  slumber  so  pro 
found  that  every  golden  curl  and  relaxed  muscle 
seemed  spell-bound. 


A    TALE    OF    POLAND.  '231 

The  lofty  chieftain  gazed  long  upon  his  wife.  He 
recalled  her  toils,  her  privations,  her  perils,  the  strong 
contrast  between  the  present  and  the  past ;  he  won 
dered  at  her  gentleness,  her  moral  courage,  the  full 
ness  of  her  compassion  for  others.  He  saw  even  the 
beauty  of  her  countenance  scarcely  changed,  and  fan 
cied  that  her  love-beaming  smile,  and  her  clear,  blue, 
transparent  eye  imaged  forth  the  repose  of  heaven. 
He  remembered  the  inward  tempests  that  had  fur 
rowed  his  own  brow,  the  fires  that  had  seared  his 
soul  and  dried  up  its  fountains,  making  him  old  be 
fore  his  time. 

We  dwell  together,  thought  he,  like  the  angel  of 
peace,  and  the  demon  of  war.  The  comparison  is 
against  me. 

Then  there  passed  over  his  mind  such  a  saddening 
consciousness  of  the  evils  of  strife,  the  unsatisfying 
nature  of  military  glory,  the  fearful  cost  of  victory, 
and  the  tendency  of  a  vindictive  spirit  to  recoil  upon 
itself,  that,  for  the  first  time,  the  wish  that  he  had 
never  been  a  man  of  blood  rushed  to  his  lips. 

Suddenly,  as  at  an  earthquake,  the  disjointed  stones 
of  their  habitation  trembled  and  fell  in  masses.  Po 
land's  cry  "  To  arms !"  rose  above  the  tumult. 

"  The  Russian  artillery  !"  exclaimed  the  warrior, 
as  he  rushed  to  rally  his  soldiers.  These  were  to  be 
his  last  words  in  the  sanctuary  where  his  heart  had 
found  refuge. 

The  conflict  was  protracted  and  dreadful.  I  wish 
not  to  describe  it.  The  "  thunder  of  the  captains, 


232  A    TALE    OF    POLAND. 

and  the  shouting,"  are  not  my  province.  Is  not  death 
sufficiently  terrible  when  sanctioned  by  nature,  and 
softened  by  religion "?  but  when  urged  on  by  misguid 
ed  man,  and  bade  to  do  his  work  in  violence  and 
wrath,  the  sickening  heart  may  be  permitted  to  turn 
away. 

At  length  the  trampling  and  uproar  of  battle  ceased. 
But  over  the  field  of  carnage  was  the  unceasing  groan 
of  mangled  men — that  horrible  cadence  of  war.  The 
uprooted  grass,  and  the  surface  of  the  earth  trodden 
into  dust,  were  indented  with  curdling  pools  of  blood. 

The  combatants  slowly  drew  off  in  broken  bat 
talions,  and  eager  and  mournful  forms  were  search 
ing  amid  heaps  of  slain,  each  for  his  own  dead. 

Ulrica  was  already  there,  grasping  a  lifeless  hand 
between  her  own.  Bathing  with  floods  of  tears  the 
immovable  countenance  of  that  friend  whom  she  had 
loved  more  than  life,  she  felt  the  force  of  that  grief 
to  which  the  shepherd-king  gave  voice  in  the  excla 
mation,  "  Would  to  God  I  had  died  for  thee!" 

Bearing  to  their  desolated  mansion  the  remains  of 
her  husband,  he  was  laid  in  the  tomb  of  his  ances 
tors  with  such  brief  honors  as  his  country,  in  her  hour 
of  trial,  was  able  to  pay  a  chief  who  had  periled  all 
for  her.  Scarcely  had  Uh'ica  bowed  herself  to  the 
first  sorrows  of  widowhood,  ere  she  was  summoned 
to  lay  her  beautiful  babe  by  its  father's  side.  One  of 
those  unannounced  diseases  incidental  to  infancy, 
which,  like  swift-winged  and  noxious  birds,  are  ever 
hovering  about  the  unopened  buds  of  being,  swept 


A    TALE    OF    POLAND. 


over  it,  and  it  was  gone.  In  the  morning  it  flourish 
ed,  and  came  forth  as  a  flower ;  in  the  evening  it  was 
cut  down  and  withered. 

Let  none  account  the  mourning  for  a  lost  infant 
light,  or  soon  forgotten.  Sorrow  for  the  departed  is 
not  always  graduated  by  the  value  that  the  commu 
nity  may  have  affixed  to  their  lives.  The  heart  has 
other  gold  than  that  which  men  weigh  in  a  balance. 
He  who  marks  in  the  cemetery  a  mound  of  a  span's 
length,  and,  carelessly  passing  on,  says,  "  It  was  but  a 
babe  !"  hath  never  been  a  parent. 

The  fortunes  of  Poland  grew  darker  every  day. 
Contest  after  contest  was  lost.  The  battle  of  Praga 
struck  her  down  from  her  throne  among  the  nations. 
Despotism  returned  with  a  twofold  purpose,  to  do 
the  deeds  which  her  own  nature  prompted,  and  to 
punish  rebellion.  She  was  not  slack  in  either  task. 
Confiscation,  imprisonment,  banishment,  death,  were 
the  instruments  by  which  she  wrought. 

Among  the  list  of  exiles  to  the  wilds  of  Siberia 
were  the  Radzivil  family.  Sole  representatives  of 
one  of  its  branches,  Ulrica  and  her  young  daughter 
joined  that  melancholy  train.  Yet  the  bereaved  and 
afflicted  woman  went  not  forth  despairing.  She  gird 
ed  herself  to  bear  her  appointed  lot.  Life  seemed 
to  her  as  a  short  journey  to  the  land  of  peace.  Ever 
keeping  this  in  view,  she  had  a  cheering  word  for 
those  whose  hearts  sank  as  a  stone  beneath  the  dark 
waters. 

There  is  sometimes  found  in  woman  an  uncom- 
U2 


234  A    TALE    OF    POLAND. 

plaining  fortitude,  which  shrinks  not  when  the  pride 
of  man,  her  stronger  companion,  gives  way;  a  power 
of  endurance  bestowed  by  her  Creator,  to  supply  the 
deficiency  of  mightier  energies.  But  here  there  was 
something  more — the  panoply  with  which  Heaven 
condescends  to  invest  the  heart,  which,  sacrificing 
its  selfishness  and  resigning  its  own  will,  henceforth 
becomes  a  partner  in  the  strength  of  omnipotence. 
It  obtains  no  exemption  from  trial  or  misfortune,  no 
passport  to  command  away  a  single  thorn  that  ob 
structs  its  pilgrimage.  Its  power  is  in  the  talisman, 
engraven  on  its  inmost  tablet,  "  Thy  will  be  done." 

The  fatigues  and  sufferings  of  banishment  fell 
most  heavily  on  the  young  and  tender.  Ere  they 
entered  the  gloomy  pine-forests  of  Russia,  the  sor 
rowing  exiles  found  their  number  fearfully  dimin 
ished  : 

"  The  cold  snows  wove  their  winding  sheet, 
And  many  a  turf  beneath  their  feet 
Was  made  an  infant's  sepulchre." 

Little  Ulrica  faltered,  and  indicated  in  every  feature 
that  her  path  led  to  a  returnless  bourne.  Her  moth 
er  saw  the  destination,  and  strove  to  prepare  her  for 
it.  She  spoke  to  her  of  that  clime  where  blossoms 
never  fade,  where  there  is  no  war,  no  severing  of 
hearts  that  love,  of  the  compassion  of  "  Jesus  the 
Mediator,"  and  of  God  the  judge  of  all,  who  hath 
mercy  on  the  penitent  and  the  trustful.  She  told  her 
of  the  unresting  harps  of  angels,  who  wait,  and  stretch 
forth  their  wings,  and  call  the  parting  soul  to  join 


A    TALE    OF    POLAND.  235 

their  company.  She  rested  not  night  or  day,  and  her 
pious  labor  was  requited.  The  young  summoned 
spirit,  went  forth  meekly  and  willingly  from  its  house 
of  clay. 

For  the  lonely  mourner  there  was  henceforth  no 
joy  on  earth,  save  the  echo  of  the  seraphic  hymn, 
which  from  the  pure  realm  of  peace  visited  her 
nightly. 

To  the  children  of  her  people  who  had  no  moth 
ers,  she  drew  near,  and  wiped  their  tears,  and  gather 
ed  them  into  her  bosom,  and  taught  them  of  Jesus. 
To. the  hoary-headed  she  bowed  herself  down  as  a 
daughter,  and  comforted  them  till  they  gazed  upon 
her  as  an  angel  of  light.  To  the  broken-hearted  she 
spoke  sisterly  words,  urging  them  to  walk  stead 
fastly  toward  that  country  where  is  no  bereavement; 
and,  in  listening  to  her  sweet  tones,  they  lost  for  a 
season  the  bitter  memories  of  exile. 

Thus  she  moved  in  that  ministry  of  benevolence 
and  resignation  which  he  who  perfectly  attains  hath 
accomplished  the  discipline  of  probation,  and  is  ready 
for  a  higher  grade  of  being,  and  for  the  "recompense 
of  reward." 

The  humble  and  pure  spirit  which  she  hid  within 
would  have  inspired  contentment  even  amid  that 
realm  of  frost,  where  vegetation,  except  in  its  hardier 
forms,  is  extinct,  and  the  solid  earth  cleaves  asunder. 
It  would  have  devised  deeds  of  kindness  for  the  mis 
erable  boor,  whose  superiority  to  the  wild  beasts  that 
surrounded  him  was  chiefly  evinced  in  the  skill  with 


236  A    TALE    OF    POLAND. 

which  he  entrapped  them,  or  divested  them  of  their 
skins,  for  the  better  clothing  of  himself  and  his  little 
barbarians. 

But  the  wrath  of  a  Siberian  winter  swept  not  over 
the  widowed  consort  of  John  Radzivil.  Ere  it  bound 
the  earth  inks  terrible  fetters,  she  had  fled  to  a  clime 
without  tempest  or  cloud. 

Such  was  the  annihilation  of  a  family,  once  noble, 
honored,  and  happy.  Yet  is  its  record  of  suffering 
scarcely  a  drop  in  the  dark  tide  that  saturated  the  soil 
of  Poland.  The  dauntless  self-devotion  of  her  sons 
availed  nothing  against  the  despotism  that  overwhelm 
ed  her.  Those  whom  she  nurtured  in  her  high  pla 
ces  now  languish  in  prisons  and  in  mines  :  they 
perish  in  the  stern,  frozen  heart  of  Siberia,  or  are 
homeless  wanderers  in  far,  foreign  lands.  And  as 
among  the  family  of  nations,  there  has  long  been  ad 
miration  of  her  high,  chivalrous  character,  so  there 
should  be  sympathy  for  her  fall,  and  in  the  sorrows 
of  her  children. 


THE   ALMS-HOUSE. 


'  Oh !  fairest  almoners  of  Heaven's  «weet  grace. 
Shun  not  the  haunts  of  hapless  poverty." 


THE   ALMS-HOUSE, 


THE  Retreat,  which  public  charity  had  appropriated 
to  the  homeless  poor  in  one  of  the  thriving  villages 
of  New  England,  had  a  rural  aspect,  and  occupied  a 
sheltered  situation.  The  building  was  of  one  story, 
-yet  comprised  sufficient  space  for  the  accommoda 
tion  of  its  not  numerous  tenants.  It  was  under  the 
charge  of  a  farmer  and  his  wife,  who  owned  a  few 
acres  of  land  contiguous  to  it,  and  were  induced  to 
assume  the  care  of  these  unfortunates  as  a  mode  of 
income,  which,  though  not  peculiarly  desirable,  was, 
as  they  sagely  observed,  "  better  than  no  income  at 
all." 

Mrs.  Tuttle  was  a  stirring,  but  kind-hearted  mat 
ron.  She  went  on  the  principle  that  industry  being 
a  cardinal  virtue,  it  was  her  duty  to  give  work  to  all 
within  the  premises  who  were  capable  of  employ 
ment.  She  evinced  great  tact  in  proportioning  tasks 
to  capacities,  and  in  discovering  latent  ability  for  ex 
ertion,  however  rusted  by  indolence,  or  buried  un 
der  imaginary  disease.  Those  who  were  lame,  and 
could  not  stand  at  the  great  wheel,  she  was  sure 
might  contrive  to  spin  a  little  flax.  Hands  which 
were  too  rheumatic  to  manage  the  wool-cards  could 
turn  the  quill-wheel,  and  wind  spools  for  the  loom, 

i 


240  THE    ALMS- HO  USE. 

where  she  herself  busily  wrought  out  various  useful 
fabrics.  Old  Mrs.  Jones,  who  was  fond  of  being 
complimented  with  having  seen  better  days,  was 
willing  to  do  the  lady-like  work  of  the  needle  ;  and 
Polly  Larkin,  an  eratic  genius,  who  had  at  times 
been  deranged,  liked  to  be  considered  as  having 
power  in  the  culinary  sphere.  Mrs.  Lester,  whose 
system  was  universally  enfeebled  by  chronic  diseas 
es,  gathered  around  her  the  few  children  of  the  little 
community,  who  were  there  maintained  until  old 
enough  to  go  to  service,  and  taught  them  the  rudi 
ments  of  necessary  knowledge,  and  the  simple  pre 
cepts  of  the  religion  that  she  loved.  When  any  were 
sick,  she  was  at  their  bedside  with  her  nursing  offi 
ces,  or  repeating  hymns  of  comfort.  "  She  is  our 
missionary,"  said  they;  and  her  smile  of  meekness 
and  love  confirmed  their  designation. 

Mingled  with  these,  were  some  less  impressible 
natures.  But  the  matron,  who  took  care  always  to 
deserve  their  respect,  little  heeded  their  ill  humor. 
Sometimes  she  was  rewarded  by  gratitude,  though 
it  is  seldom  to  be  expected  in  such  a  situation  from 
those  whose  reverses  are  aggravated  by  age,  suffer 
ing,  and  the  imagined  contempt  of  the  world.  With 
true  benevolence,  she  endeavored  to  interweave  their 
^ayvvard  and  broken  natures  with  the  household 
charities,  and  make  them  feel  the  comfort  and  inter 
est  of  the  family  as  their  own ;  and  since  misfortune, 
and  not  crime,  had  made  most  of  them  her  inmates, 
the  task  was  not  difficult.  But  regular  industry,  and 


THE    ALMS-HOUSE.  241 

the  spirit  of  piety,  were  the  remedies  on  which  she 
mainly  depended.  Under  the  influence  of  the  first 
even  decaying  health  sometimes  revived,  and  her 
consistent  example  of  the  latter  won  confidence  from 
those  who  did  not  aspire  to  imitation.  In  her  inter 
course  with  them,  she  strove  to  keep  ever  in  mind 
the  sweet  precept,  "  God  is  love  ;"  and  when  seated 
with  them  around  the  simple  board,  or  collected  for 
stated  devotion,  she  remembered  that  every  soul  was 
precious  in  His  sight. 

The  same  principles  regulated  the  conduct  of  her 
husband  ;  but  there  was  about  him  more  distance 
and  reserve  of  manner,  easily  roused  to  sternness 
when  evil  conduct  required  the  exercise  of  authority. 
Thus  the  sway  of  his  partner,  which  might  otherwise 
have  been  too  mild,  or  liable  to  be  abused  by  refract 
ory  natures,  was  h'appily  and  judiciously  fortified. 
Among  the  inmates  of  his  dwelling  were  only  two 
of  his  own  sex  ;  one  disabled  by  age,  and  the  other 
by  casualty,  from  earning  a  subsistence  by  labor,  yet 
capable  of  occasionally  aiding  him  in  his  vegetable 
garden,  or  other  light  employments  for  the  general 
good.  On  the  whole,  this  small  community  was  like 
a  bee-hive  ;  and  industry  has  seldom  evinced  its  pow 
er  more  fully  than  by  thus  neutralizing  the  bitter 
draught  of  poverty  and  scorn.  w 

But  the  good  farmer  became  suddenly  Ae  victim 

of  a  violent  fever.     Long  he  lay  on  the  verge  of  the 

grave.     He  was  indeed  saved,  but  partial  paralysis 

ensued,  and  it  was  evident  that  life  must  be  languish- 

16  X 


242  THE    ALMS-HOUSE. 

ed  out  in  decrepitude.  It  was  therefore  deemed 
expedient  for  him  and  his  wife  to  accept  the  invita 
tion  of  a  married  daughter,  who  resided  in  a  neigh 
boring  town,  to  pass  the  remainder  of  their  days  un 
der  her  filial  supervision.  The  poor  people  regretted 
this  change,  and  looked  forward  with  apprehension ; 
for  the  overseer  of  the  parish,  finding  that  the  house 
they  occupied  needed  many  repairs,  decided  that  it 
would  be  cheapest  to  place  them  at  board  wherever 
the  best  bargain  could  be  obtained. 

On  the  very  day  of  the  departure  of  good  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Tuttle,  a  singular  scene  was  exhibited  in  the 
largest  apartment  of  their  mansion ;  an  auction, 
where  not  the  highest,  but  the  lowest  bidder  had 
precedence. 

Ranged  on  one  side  were  the  officers  of  the  par 
ish  ;  on  the  other,  farmers,  imbrowned  by  exposure, 
whose  features  seemed  to  sharpen  with  desire  of 
gain.  In  the  background  were  perceived  flitting 
sections  of  haggard  faces,  thrust  through  a  half-open 
door,  or  eyes  wandering  here  and  there,  dilated  with 
a  painful  curiosity.  The  business  proceeded.  The 
chief  speaker  addressed  one  of  the  applicants. 

"  For  what  price  will  you  engage  to  take  these 
paupers  per  week?" 

"  Seventy  cents  a  head." 

"  Too  much  ;  too  much,  sir,  altogether.  We  must 
economize  in  these  hard  times.  Mr.  Jotham  Tuttle 
and  his  wife  were  good  people.  The  only  trouble 
was,  they  were  too  good.  They  allowed  the  poor  to 


THE    ALMS-HOUSE.  243 

cost  the  town,  in  and  out,  rising  of  fifty-nine  cents 
and  a  quarter,  for  every  head  of  them.  Now  this 
will  never  do.  It  is  only  offering  encouragement 
for  idlers  to  come  and  throw  themselves  on  us  to 
be  maintained.  Mr.  Jed  Tarbox,  what  will  you  take 
the  whole  lot  on  'em  for  ]" 

"  Thirty  cents  for  them  that's  able  to  help  a  little 
around,  and  seventy  cents  for  them  that  don't  do  noth 
ing  but  eat." 

"  Lump  them  all  together,  Mr.  Tarbox,  lump  them 
all  together ;  we  can't  spend  time  to  go  into  such 
fractional  niceties." 

"  I  suspect  there  is  a  cripple  or  two  among  them, 
and  three  or  four  others  not  much  better.  Them, 
too,  that  they  call  working  folks,  don't  do  but  a 
precious  little  matter  of  labor.  Supposing  I  take 
them  on  trial  a  month  or  two,  and  allow  the  town 
accordingly  T' 

"  No,  sir,  no  ;  we  can't  make  no  such  conditions. 
The  town  must  understand  what  it  binds  itself  to  pay. 
Will  you  take  them  for  fifty  cents  in  and  out  1  you'll 
make  a  good  bargain." 

"  Winter  is  a  coming  on,"  said  Mi*.  Tarbox,  "  and 
bids  fair  to  be  a  pretty  tight  one.  Meat  and  grain 
don't  grow  on  every  bush.  It  costs  a  sight  of  money 
to  maintain  even  my  own  small  family." 

"  You  will  get  along  with  the  whole  of. them  cheap 
er  than  any  other  man  ;  your  wife  is  a  smart  creature 
for  business."  As  the  negotiation  seemed  drawing 
toward  a  close,  the  faces  of  the  sorrowing  poor  were 


244  THE    A  L.MS- HOUSE. 

turned  in  extreme  anxiety  to  the  speakers.  Pale, 
furrowed  brows  were  seen  in  the  dim  distance  peer 
ing  one  above  the  other,  anon  flitting,  receding,  and 
returning  in  scowling,  breathless  alarm.  At  length, 
after  much  close  and  sharp  higgling,  the  bargain  was 
concluded  at  fifty-one  cents  and  three  quarters  per 
week. 

Murmuring  could  no  longer  be  suppressed.  Miss 
Polly  Larkin,  a  meager  and  fearless  spinster,  com 
ing  forward,  accosted  the  town  officers  in  a  shrill 
tone. 

"  Will  you  please  to  have  it  put  into  the  bargain 
that  Mr.  Tarbox  shall  hire  a  doctor  for  us  by  the  year, 
as  old  Mr.  Tuttle  always  did  ?" 

"  Oh !  here,  that  ought  to  have  been  thought  of. 
Here,  Mr.  Tarbox,  will  you  set  it  down  in  the  con 
tract  that  a  doctor  shall  be  hired  1" 

The  purchaser  of  the  poor,  disconcerted,  did  not 
readily  answer.  He  twirled  round  the  hat  which  he 
held  in  his  hand,  and  twice  dropped  his  riding- whip 
ere  he  spoke.  "  The  doctor  that  Mr.  Jotham  Tuttle 
hired  is  a  dreadful  dear  man.  There  is  one  nigh 
to  my  house  that  I  can  get,  and  pay  him  visit  by 
visit,  instead  of  letting  it  run  on  to  the  eend  of  the 
year." 

"  He's  a  steam  doctor  !"  screamed  old  Mrs.  Jones  ; 
"  we  shall  all  be  killed  with  emetics  and  pepper  pills." 
And  far  out  in  the  distance  was  heard  a  hoarse  echo 
of"  Steam  doctor!  we  shall  all  be  killed  !" 

"  I  do  hope,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Jones,  "  we  shall  have 


THE    ALMS-HOUSE.  245 

a  minister  when  we  come  to  die,  and  not  be  buried 
in  old  chists,  to  save  coffins." 

"  Mr.  Tarbox  will  undoubtedly  see  that  all  is 
right,"  said  the  men  in  power,  buttoning  themselves 
to  the  throat  for  their  homeward  ride. 

"  Jed  Tarbox  is  a  skinflint,"  said  Polly  Larkin,  in 
a  spasmodic  whisper,  "  and  his  wife  is  an  old  dragon." 

The  future  landlord  of  the  poor,  consented  to  re 
ceive  them  immediately,  and  promised  to  send  his 
ox-team  for  such  as  were  not  able  to  walk  three  miles. 

Our  scene  now  changes  to  a  pleasant  dwelling  in 
the  heart  of  the  village. 

"  Maria,"  said  the  sweet-voiced  Ellen  Mason  to 
her  friend,  with  whom  she  was  spending  the  evening, 
"  when  were  you  last  at  the  alms-house  ]" 

"  I  am  ashamed  to  say  only  once  since  your  ab 
sence  on  your  visit.  I  missed  your  sweet  company 
on  the  long  walk  so  sadly  that  I  had  no  heart  to  go 
again  without  you  ;  besides,  my  school  has  been  so 
large  as  to  allow  me  less  leisure  than  formerly." 

"  Can  you  go  next  Saturday  afternoon?" 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  have  been  wishing  for  some  time  to 
carry  a  cap  I  have  made  for  old  Mrs.  Lester,  and 
then  will  have  ready  sundry  other  little  comforts  for 
our  pensioners." 

With  their  work  -  baskets  containing  such  arti 
cles  as  are  ever  acceptable  to  the  poor,  were  it  only 
as  a  proof  that  they  are  remembered  by  the  more  for 
tunate,  the  young  friends  commenced  their  walk. 
The  keen  air  of  closing  autumn  rendered  brisk  ex- 
X2 


246  THE    ALMS- HO  US  E. 

ercise  pleasant,  and  they  found,  as  they  had  often 
done  before,  how  distance  is  beguiled  by  friendship, 
and  friendship  heightened  by  benevolence.  The 
brilliance  of  the  forest  had  passed  away :  the  maple 
gleaned  not  forth  in  crimson,  as  if  its  wounded  heart 
was  gushing  in  life-blood  through  every  leaf.  Or 
ange  and  umbered  brown  no  longer  clothed  the  lofty 
chestnut  or  the  drooping  elm.  The  gnarled  oaks 
stretched  their  scorbutic  arms ;  the  frozen  earth  re 
turned  a  grating  echo  to  the  traveler's  wheel ;  and 
Nature,  expecting  the  tyranny  of  Winter,  bowed 
down  to  receive  his  fetters. 

•  But  in  the  heart  of  the  young  friends  there  was  no 
winter,  and  their  cheeks  brightened  with  new  bloom 
as  they  reached  the  house  where  they  had  so  often 
dispensed  happiness.  What  was  their  surprise  to 
find  it  tenantless !  like  the  struck  tent  of  the  Arab, 
all  around  was  desolation. 

A  casual  passer-by  informed  them  where  those 
whom  they  sought  might  be  found ;  but  the  distance 
was  too  formidable  for  a  pedestrian  excursion,  and 
they  were  compelled  to  defer  their  visit.  When  it 
was  next  in  their  power  to  go,  every  trace  of  vege 
tation  had  faded  from  the  landscape,  and  hill  and 
valley  were  heavily  robed  in  snow.  The  sleigh  in 
which  they  rode,  furnished  a  convenient  mode  of 
transporting  a  greater  variety  of  articles  for  their 
needy  friends. 

Their  driver  stopped  opposite  a  tall,  narrow,  cold- 
looking  house,  with  a  thin  volume  of  blue  smoke 


THE    ALMS-HOUSE.  247 

straggling  out  of  a  single  chimney.  The  cheerful 
peal  of  the  sleigh-bells  attracted  attention,  and  Mrs. 
Tarbox,  a  stout  woman,  was  seen  to  fly  about  Ui  va 
rious  directions  ere  she  met  the  young  ladies  at  the 
door. 

"  I  suppose  you  want  to  see  old  Mrs.  Jones,"  said 
she.  "  She  is  a  great  deal  worse  to-day.  Indeed, 
she  is  e'en  a  just  gone,  and  it  will  do  no  good  to  see 
her  at  all." 

Not  heeding  this  unwelcome  reception,  they  en 
tered,  remarking  that  they  desired  to  see  all  the  poor 
people,  and  were  not  aware  of  the  illness  of  good 
Mrs.  Jones.  Considerable  confusion  was  evident ; 
and  among  those  who  were  running  hither  and  thith 
er  appeared  a  boy,  with  a  basket  of  small  sticks  and 
shavings,  hurried  by  Mrs.  Tarbox,  to  make  a  fire  im 
mediately  in  the  sick-chamber.  Following  him,  they 
entered  a  room  where  most  of  the  poor  people  had 
clustered  round  a  bed. 

"  The  poor  creature  has  been  a-dying  the  biggest 
part  of  three  days,"  said  Mrs.  Tarbox.  "  She  can't 
swallow  at  all." 

"  I  could  swallow  well  enough,"  murmured  the 
weak,  pettish  voice  of  the  sufferer,  "  if  I  had  any  thing 
fit  to  swallow." 

This  was  tried  and  proved.  She  evinced  joy  at  the 
sight  of  her  young  friends ;  but  it  was  a  fluttering 
and  faint  sensation,  as  if  a  stranger  to  her  benumbed 
breast.  They  inquired  if  she  had  seen  a  physician, 
to  which  the  lady  of  the  house  replied,  "  Her  husband 


THE    ALMS-HOUSE. 


had  been  after  one,  time  and  again,  and  he  was  now 
expected  every  minute." 

"  What  is  that  1"  exclaimed  the  aged  woman,  as 
the  unwonted  blaze,  which  the  boy  had  suddenly 
kindled,  went  roaring  up  the  chimney.  "  What  is 
that  1  fire  !"  fixing  her  startled  eyes,  and  spreading 
out  her  emaciated  hands,  with  an  unearthly  scream 
of  delight.  Still  opening  and  shutting  her  fingers 
with  a  convulsive  movement,  she  uttered,  in  a  hollow 
tone,  "  Stand  away,  Tom  Tarbox  ;  let  me  see  the 
fire  !" 

Alas  !  it  was  a  deeper  eclipse  than  any  interven 
tion  of  flesh  and  blood;  for  while  one  moment  she  ex 
ulted  in  the  unwonted  warmth,  the  next  she  moaned, 
stretched  out  her  feet,  and  was  no  more. 

The  following  day,  in  that  cheerless  habitation, 
were  the  humble  funeral  obsequies.  The  principal 
room  was  hastily  put  in  order,  and  she  who,  in  her 
life,  was  scarcely  allowed  to  tread  on  its  carpeted 
floor,  now  stretched  herself  there  in  the  fearless 
majesty  of  death.  The  cap  which  Maria's  needle 
had  so  neatly  finished,  with  the  hope  that  it  would 
gain  a  smile  from  her  humble  friend,  was  plaited 
around  that  stiffened  brow,  which  had  taken  its  last 
change  from  the  adversities  of  earth. 

Mi-s.  Tarbox  had  directed  the  poor  people  to  be 
dressed  in  their  best  clothes,  and  even  spoke  kindly 
to  them,  for  she  knew  that  the  two  young  ladies  were 
to  be  there,  and  bring  their  own  minister  from  the 
village  to  perform  the  last  services  for  the  dead. 


THE    ALMS-HOUSE.  249 

When  he  spoke  with  the  meekness  of  his  Master  to 
those  unfortunate  ones,  they  gathered  near  him, 
treasuring  up  every  word;  and  while  from  his  pray 
er  the  balm  of  the  Gospel  distilled,  and  they  were 
reminded  of  those  mansions  of  rest  with  the  dear 
Redeemer,  when  repentance  had  done  its  work,  and 
life's  discipline  was  over,  and  when  they  saw  a  tear 
on  the  bright  cheeks  of  their  benefactresses,  they 
wept  audibly  and  long. 

On  returning  from  the  church-yard,  the  good  cler 
gyman  addressed  to  each  of  the  inmates  some  kind 
inquiry  or  religious  counsel.  Cheered  by  his  atten 
tions,  they  listened  earnestly,  and  were  surprised  to 
see  the  fierce  eye  of  their  hostess  quail  and  cower 
before  his  gentle  regard. 

She  was  informed  by  Ellen  Mason  that  two  of  the 
poor  children  were  to  be  taken  to  the  village  in  her 
sleigh,  as  she  had  obtained  eligible  places  for  them  to 
reside,  where  their  young  services  would  be  useful. 
Inquiry  was  made  for  the  hat  of  the  little  boy.  "  He 
never  had  one  worth  speaking  of,"  said  Mrs.  Tarbox. 

"  Yes,  but  I  had,"  answered  the  child,  gathering 
courage  at  the  prospect  of  escape.  "  I  had  one,  till 
your  boy,  Tom  Tarbox,  struck  me  with  it  and  threw 
it  into  the  fire."  The  little  girl,  who  was  about  to 
depart,  put  her  arms  affectionately  round  old  Mrs. 
Lester,  who  had  tried  to  instruct  her,  and  said  in  a 
whisper,  as  she  took  leave, 

"  I  am  sorry  I  ever  called  you  Goody  Minister." 

"  And  I,"  said  the  boy,  "  should  not  have  called 


250  THE    ALMS-HOUSE. 

you  Old  Granny  Bible-story,  only  Tom  Tarbox  told 
me  to." 

"  My  dear  children,"  was  her  reply,  "  I  shall  al 
ways  love  you.  Remember  to  say  your  prayers,  and 
read  your  Bible,  and  to  obey  those  who  have  the  rule 
over  you.  How  much  I  shall  miss  you  !  Half  of 
my  little  school  will  now  be  gone.  God  be  with  you, 
and  bless  you." 

Her  voice  grew  tremulous  at  parting;  and  the  lit 
tle  ones,  though  elated  with  the  prospect  of  a  change 
of  abode,  wept  at  parting  with  the  only  being  who 
had  ever  labored  for  their  improvement.  Her  kind 
ness  to  these  not  very  promising  pupils  interested 
the  two  young  ladies,  who,  being  themselves  engaged 
in  the  work  of  education,  knew  how  true  and  sweet 
is  the  affection  which  springs  up  between  a  teacher 
and  those  committed  to  her  charge. 

The  meek  image  of  that  pious,  uncomplaining 
woman  dwelt  with  them,  and  they  were  grieved  to 
see  how  pale  and  thin  she  had  grown  since  her  change 
of  habitation.  On  investigating  her  history,  they  dis 
covered  that  her  origin  and  education  were  respect 
able,  and  that  her  constitution  had  been  broken  by 
devotion  to  two  sickly  children,  who  died  young,  and 
to  the  long  helplessness  of  an  intemperate  husband, 
who  had  left  her  in  deep  poverty.  All  that  they  heard 
of  her  blameless  life,  of  her  spirit,  resigned,  and  even 
thankful  under  privation,  served  to  heighten  their 
sympathy,  and  their  desire  to  obtain  for  her  a  more 
fitting  refuge.  After  consulting  their  older  friends, 


THE    ALMS-HOUSE.  251 

they  devised  a  plan  for  her  removal.  Having  become 
jointly  interested  in  a  school  for  young  ladies,  they 
felt  that  the  income  from  their  employment  would 
authorize  them  in  assuming  this  work  of  benevolence. 
They  therefore  decided  to  place  her  as  a  boarder 
with  a  widow  lady  and  her  daughter,  who  occupied 
a  small,  neat  cottage  in  the  neighborhood. 

The  gratitude  of  poor  Mrs.  Lester  at  this  unex 
pected  change  was  unbounded  ;  yet  she  could  by  no 
means  consent  to  be  idle.  Kind  treatment  and  un 
wonted  comfort  had  a  favorable  effect  on  her  health, 
and  she  begged  to  be  permitted  to  take  charge  of  a 
few  pupils,  to  assist  in  defraying  the  expense  of  her 
situation.  She  was  found  entirely  competent  to  im 
part  the  rudiments  of  knowledge,  and  also  to  impress 
those  habits  of  industry,  good  order,  and  kind  affec 
tion  which  enrich  the  unfolding  elements  of  charac 
ter  with  a  better  wealth  than  the  proud  precocity  of 
intellect. 

One  fine  afternoon  in  spring,  Ellen  and  Maria  called 
at  the  cottage.  It  was  a  sweet,  though  humble  abode. 
A  few  beds  of  thyme  and  other  aromatic  herbs  were 
near  the  door,  and  among  them  the  nestling  bees 
wrought,  busy  and  musical.  Near  the  window  grew 
an  aged  tree,  clasped  by  a  vine,  whose  peeping  flow 
erets  gave  out  a  fresh  odor.  It  seemed  an  emblem 
of  the  ancient  teacher,  surrounded  by  her  happy  pu 
pils.  Their  young,  bright  eyes  were  reverently  fixed 
on  her,  as,  seated  in  her  arm-chair,  with  a  large  Bible 
before  her,  she  read  to  them  a  few  sentences,  prepar- 


252  THE    ALMS-HOUSE. 

atory  to  their  parting  for  the  day.  Her  knitting-bag 
hung  beside  her,  their  work-baskets  and  books  were 
laid  neatly  in  their  respective  places,  every  little  be 
ing  was  quiet  and  attentive,  for  scrupulous  order  and 
discipline  were  features  of  her  system;  and  whoever 
acquires  these  in  childhood  hath  a  goodly  heritage 
for  riper  days.  Her  simple  garb  was  thoroughly  neat 
and  appropriate,  and  her  intonation  tender,  as  she 
uttered  the  inspired  words,  "  Little  children,  love  one 
another."  At  the  sight  of  her  young  benefactresses 
the  light  of  grateful  joy  beamed  from  her  placid  fea 
tures,  as  she  exclaimed,  "  What  am  I,  or  what  was 
my  father's  house,  that  thou  hast  brought  me  hith 
erto  1" 

Every  interview  heightened  their  good  opinion  of 
this  venerable  woman,  and  their  satisfaction  at  hav 
ing  been  able  to  rescue  her  from  neglect,  and  render 
her  declining  days  comfortable.  Such  deeds  of  be 
nevolence  give  a  charm  to  youth  beyond  the  fascina 
tions  of  beauty;  and  a  heartfelt  delight,  that  vanity, 
amid  its  proudest  triumphs,  never  attains. 

The  sufferings  of  the  homeless  poor  are  but  little 
understood  by  those  whose  hearth-stones  are  always 
bright  with  domestic  comfort.  Especially  the  custom 
which  has  prevailed  in  some  of  our  villages,  of  placing 
them  where  they  can  be  maintained  at  the  least  ex 
pense,  or  farming  them  out  to  the  lowest  bidder,  adds 
unmingled  bitterness  to  their  cup  of  misery.  Self- 
interest,  too  often  leagued  with  inhumanity,  deprives 
them  of  those  comforts  which  infirmity  and  age  re- 


THE    ALMS-HOUSE.  253 

quire  ;  while  the  feeling  of  being  always  unwelcome, 
and  the  open  consciousness  that  their  scanty  support 
is  deemed  a  burden,  help  to  dry  up  the  springs  of 
existence.  Too  much  scope  is  thus  allowed  to  tyr 
anny  and  cold  calculation  ;  and  to  the  sick,  the  no 
very  delicate  "  measuring  how  long  they  have  to  live," 
adds  to  the  force  of  depression  and  disease. 

Even  in  our  best-conducted  alms-houses,  there  must 
be  many  privations  and  trials  to  those  whose  earlier 
days  were  marked  by  better  fortunes,  and  more  cheer 
ing  hopes.  Among  the  keenest,  is  the  absence  of 
human  sympathy.  The  gentler  sex,  with  whom  is  the 
wealth  of  sympathy,  and  the  most  frequent  opportu 
nities  to  exercise  it,  should  not  be  forgetful  of  these 
forgotten  ones.  A  visit,  and  a  few  kind  words,  are 
cordials  of  power,  spots  of  greenness  amid  the  "  dark 
mountains,  where  their  feet  stumble"  onward  to  the 
grave.  Let  the  young  and  fortunate,  amid  their  walks 
of  benevolence,  not  overlook  the  inmates  of  our  alms- 
houses,  remembering  that  the  consolation  which  they 
there  impart,  is  in  conformity  to  His  blessed  exam 
ple  who  despised  not  the  lowest,  when  He  came  to 
save  the  lost. 


THE  PLOUGH  AND  THE  SWORD. 


'Though  blinded  warriors  seek  renown  in  arms, 
Pant  after  fame,  and  rush  to  war's  alarms, 
Mine  be  the  pleasures  of  a  rural  life, 
From  noise  remote,  and  ignorant  of  strife." 

LIVINGSTON. 


THE   PLOUGH   AND   THE   SWORD. 


IN  one  of  the  quiet  villages  that  beautify  the  val 
ley  of  the  Connecticut,  sleeping  like  nests  among  the 
green  drapery,  was  a  pleasant  and  somewhat  antique 
farm-house.  It  stood  retired  from  the  public  road, 
overshadowed  by  a  lofty  elm,  with  broad,  drooping 
branches.  A  silver  brooklet  came  bubbling  from  the 
hillock  in  its  background ;  then  flowing  into  a  nook 
amid  the  roots  of  some  old  trees,  and  growing  deep 
er  and  more  subdued,  was  content  to  refresh  the 
steed  of  the  passing  traveler,  or  the  herds  who  drank 
and  ruminated  in  its  waters,  as  though  it  were  to 
them  a  Helicon. 

The  smaller  tenements  and  appendages  of  the 
farm-house  evinced  neatness  and  good  husbandry. 
A  dense  hop-vine  clustered  over  its  long  piazza,  and , 
a  row  of  bee-hives  sent  forth  their  busy  people  among 
the  thyme  and  balm-beds.  The  sound  of  the  mat 
ron's  wheel,  mingling  with  her  song,  was  heard  from 
the  open  casement  in  summer,  while  the  rich  prod 
ucts  of  the  churn  and  cheese-press  attested  her  skill 
in  the  dairy. 

In  the  labors  of  the  farmer,  his  two  young  sons 
were  constant  and  active  participants.     They  assist- 
17 


258  THE    PLOUGH    AXD    THE    SWORD. 


ed  to  draw  the  furrow  in  early  spring,  and  to  scat 
ter  the  seeds  from  whence  their  bread  was  to  grow. 
In  summer  they  followed  the  scythe  with  their  light 
er  implements,  preparing  the  fragrant  food  for  their 
domestic  animals.  In  autumn  they  aided  to  gather 
into  the  garner  the  varied  bounty  that  God,  through 
their  mother-earth,  sent,  as  a  reward  for  faithful  toil. 
In  winter  they  sought  with  equal  diligence,  at  the 
district  school,  those  mental  stores  which  were  to 
enrich  the  whole  of  life. 

One  cold  evening,  they  were  seated  with  their 
books  beside  a  bright  fire  fed  by  the  trees  of  their  own 
forest,  while  their  lamp  cast  a  cheerful  ray  over  the 
snow-covered  landscape.  The  younger,  a  boy  of 
thirteen,  threw  aside  his  lessons,  and  said, 

"  I  intend  to  be  a  soldiei'.  I  have  read  of  Alex 
ander  the  Great,  and  of  Bonaparte.  There  is  noth 
ing  in  this  world  so  glorious  as  the  fame  of  the  war 
rior." 

His  brother  raised  a  thoughtful  brow,  and  regarded 
him  with  a  steady  glance  for  a  few  moments,  ere  he 
replied, 

"  To  destroy  life,  and  bring  mourning  into  fami 
lies,  and  misery  into  the  world,  seems  to  me  cruel, 
instead  of  glorious." 

"  Oh  !  but  the  rich  dress,  and  the  fine  music,  and 
the  glittering  arms,  think  of  them!  And  then,  the 
honor  and  the  praise  !  To  have  hosts  of  soldiers 
under  your  command,  and  all  the  people  talking  of 
your  courage,  and  distant  nations  applauding  your 


THE    PLOUGH    AND    THE    SWORD.  259 

victories :  how  can  you  be  blind  to  such  greatness  as 
that?" 

"  Did  not  our  minister  say  last  Sunday  from  the 
pulpit,  that  the  '  end  of  life  was  the  test  of  its  great 
ness  ]'  Now  Alexander  of  Macedon,  whom  you  call 
the  Great,  fell  in  a  fit  of  drunkenness,  and  Bonaparte 
died  on  a  desolate  island,  like  a  chained  wild  beast." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  are  so  easily  prejudiced. 
Indeed,  I  must  say  that  you  have  a  very  narrow 
mind.  I  doubt  whether  you  are  capable  of  admiring 
heroes.  You  had  better,  by  all  means,  be  a  farmer. 
Your  highest  ambition,  I  suppose,  is  to  break  a  pair 
of  steers,  or  ride  a  dull  cart-horse  to  market." 

The  voice  of  the  father  was  heard  from  an  adjoin 
ing  apartment, 

"  Boys,  go  to  bed." 

Thus  ended,  for  that  night,  their  conversation  on 
martial  glory,  the  only  subject  on  which  they  strong 
ly  disagreed. 

A  few  lustrums  swiftly  and  silently  pass  by.  How 
quiet  is  the  lapse  of  time  in  an  agricultural  village. 
Masses  of  men  are  not  there  to  level  the  hillocks,  or 
rear  the  red  brick  where  the  forest  waved,  or  toss 
the  slumbering  waters  into  the  caldron  of  the  steam- 
spirit,  or  give  the  green  lanes  to  the  tramp  of  its  iron 
horse.  Seed-time  and  harvest  alternate  ;  the  beauti 
ful  seasons  complete  their  annual  round.  The  child 
comes  forth  from  the  arms  of  his  mother  and  guides 
the  plough  ;  a  little  more  silver  is  sprinkled  on  the 
heads  that  have  passed  their  prime  ;  the  old  man 


260          THE    PLOUGH    AND    THE    SWORD. 

leans  more  heavily  upon  his  staff;  a  few  more  green 
mounds  are  visible  in  the  church-yard. 

The  features  of  the  rural  scenery  which  we  have 
already  described,  were  but  slightly  changed.  The 
elm  had  thrown  its  groined  branches  somewhat  high 
er,  and  marked  out  a  broader  circumference  of  shade. 
The  brook  still  told  an  unfinished  tale  to  listening 
summer,  and  in  winter  incrusted  with  frost-work 
and  diamonds  its  root-wreathed  basin.  On  the  roof 
of  the  farm-house  more  moss  had  gathered,  and  its 
rough  fence  of  brown  bars,  was  replaced  by  a  white 
paling. 

Within,  was  the  same  cheerful  fire  that  blazed 
when  we  last  visited  it.  By  its  hearth-stone  stood 
the  same  arm-chairs,  but  its  former  occupants  had 
become  tenants  of  that  lowly  bed  which  no  rising 
sun  awakens.  In  their  place  sat  the  eldest  son,  and 
by  his  side  a  woman  of  mature  age  and  pleasing 
countenance,  on  whose  knee  was  a  fair  infant.  On 
a  pallet,  in  a  shaded  nook  of  the  apartment,  two  lit 
tle  ones  quietly  breathed  in  the  sleep  of  innocence, 
and  at  a  small  table  two  boys  with  thoughtful  brows 
pondered  their  lessons.  A  wintry  storm  was  raging, 
and  as  the  blast  shook  the  casements,  the  farmer 
said  to  his  wife, 

"  In  such  cold,  bad  nights,  I  can  not  help  thinking 
of  my  poor  brother.  But  so  many  years  have  passed 
since  we  heard  aught  of  him,  and  his  way  of  life  was 
so  full  of  danger,  that  it  is  most  probable  he  no  longer 
needs  our  sympathy." 


THE    PLOUGH    AND    THE    SWORD.  261 

"  Husband,  just  as  you  began  to  speak  I  thought 
I  heard  some  one  knock ;  or  was  it  the  winds  strik 
ing  the*  old  elm-tree  1" 

On  opening  the  door,  a  motionless  form  was  found 
extended  near  the  threshold.  A  staff  was  still  feebly 
grasped  in  his  hand,  and  a  crutch,  that  supplied  the 
place  of  a  lost  limb,  had  fallen  at  his  side.  With 
difficulty  he  was  borne  in,  and  pillowed  in  a  large, 
chair  near  the  fire.  After  the  application  of  restor 
atives,  he  opened  his  eyes,  and  seemed  to  gaze  on 
every  surrounding  object — clock,  and  oaken  table, 
and  large,  old  Bible — as  on  some  recollected  friend. 
Then  there  was  a  faint  sound  of  "  Brother  !" 

That  tone  touched  the  tender  memories  of  earli 
est  years.  Their  welcome  to  the  poor  wanderer 
with  the  broken  frame,  and  tattered  garment  was 
heart-felt.  Yet  their  tears  freshly  flowed  at  his  pa 
thetic  tones, 

"  See,  I  have  come  home  to  die  !" 

They  hastened  to  spread  the  refreshing  repast, 
and  to  press  him  to  partake.  Afterward  they  in 
duced  him  to  retire  to  rest,  without  taxing  his  ex 
hausted  strength  by  conversation.  The  next  morn 
ing  he  was  unable  to  rise.  They  sat  by  his  couch, 
solacing  his  worn  spirit  with  kindness,  and  with  nar 
ratives  of  the  changes  that  had  befallen  them  and 
other  friends  in  the  peaceful  spot  of  his  birth.  At 
intervals  he  mingled  his  own  sad  recital. 

"  I  have  had  many  troubles.  But  that  which  hath 
most  bowed  me  down  inwardly  was  my  disobedience 


2G2  THE    PLOUGH    AND    THE    SWORD. 

in  leaving  home,  against  the  wishes,  and  without  the 
knowledge  of  my  parents,  to  be  a  soldier.  I  have  felt 
the  pain  of  wounds,  but  the  sting  of  conscience  is 
keener.  Hunger  and  thirst  have  I  known,  and  the 
prisons  of  a  foreign  land.  When  I  lay  sick  and  neg 
lected,  it  would  sometimes  seem,  in  the  fever-dream, 
that  my  mother  bent  kindly  over  me,  as  she  would  if 
I  had  only  the  headache ;  or  that  my  father  came  with 
the  great  Bible  in  his  hand,  to  read,  as  he  used  to  do, 
before  our  prayers  morning  and  evening.  Then  I 
cried  out,  in  my  agony,  '  I  am  no  more  worthy  to  be 
called  thy  son.'  " 

He  paused,  overcome  with  emotion,  and  his  broth 
er  hastened  to  assure  him  of  their  perfect  forgiveness, 
and  of  the  fervor  with  which  he  was  brought  ever 
before  their  family  altar  as  the  son  erring,  yet  be 
loved. 

"  Ah,  those  prayers  !  They  followed  me  like  an 
gel  wings.  But  for  them,  I  might  have  been  a  rep 
robate  both  to  God  and  man." 

By  little  and  little,  as  his  feebleness  admitted,  he 
told  the  story  of  his  wanderings.  He  had  been  in 
warfare  both  by  sea  and  land.  He  had  heard  the 
deep  ocean  resound  to  battle  thunders,  and  seen 
earth  saturated  with  the  red  shower  from  the  bosom 
of  her  sons.  He  had  served  in  the  armies  of  Europe, 
and  pursued  the  hunted  Indian  in  his  own  native 
clime.  He  had  plunged  recklessly  amid  the  thickest 
dangers,  seeking  every  where  the  glory  that  dazzled 
his  bovhood,  but  in  vain.  He  found  the  soldier's  lot 


THE    PLOUGH    AND    THE    SWORD.          263 

was  hardship,  privation,  and  death,  that  others  might 
reap  the  fame.  He  saw  what  wounds  and  mutila 
tions,  what  anguish,  mourning,  and  death  were  im 
plicated  in  a  single  victory.  He  felt  how  far  the 
renown  of  the  greatest  conqueror  falls  short  of  the 
good  that  he  forfeits ;  how  it  fades  away  before  the 
misery  that  he  inflicts. 

"  For  a  few  moments,"  he  said,  "  on  the  verge  of 
battle,  I^felt  a  shuddering,  inexpressible  horror  at 
the  thought  of  destroying  my  fellow-creatures ;  but 
in  the  heat  of  conflict  all  human  sympathies  van 
ished.  Desperate  madness  took  possession  of  me, 
and  I  cared  neither  for  this  world  nor  the  next.  I 
have  been  left  helpless  on  the  field  beneath  tramp 
ling  horses,  my  open  gashes  stiffening  in  the  chill 
night  air,  while  no  man  cared  for  my  soul.  Yet  why 
should  I  pain  you  by  such  descriptions  1  You  have 
ever  dwelt  within  the  sweet  influences  of  mercy,  and 
shrank  to  distress  even  a  soulless  animal !  You  can 
not  realize  the  hardness  of  heart  that  comes  with  such 
a  life  as  I  have  led.  The  soldier  is  enforced  to  be 
familiar  with  suffering  and  violence.  His  moral  and 
religious  sensibilities  are  in  continual  peril.  Pro 
fanity  and  contempt  of  sacred  things  mingle  with 
the  elements  of  his  trade.  The  softening,  hallowing 
privileges  of  the  Sabbath  are  not  for  him.  The  pre 
cepts  of  the  Gospel  that  were  instilled  into  his  child 
hood  are  in  danger  of  being  swept  away.  Still  my 
heart  ceased  not  to  reproach  me  in  seasons  of.  reflec 
tion,  though  I  would  fain  have  silenced  and  made  it 


THE    PLOUGH    AND    THE    SWORD. 

callous.  Oh  !  that  it  might  be  purified  by  penitence, 
ere  I  am  called  to  answer  for  deeds  of  blood,  and  for 
a  lost  life." 

His  sympathizing  brother  and  sister  still  cherished 
the  hope,  that  by  medical  skill  and  careful  nursing, 
his  health  might  be  restored.  They  placed  much 
reliance  on  the  bland  influences  of  his  native  air,  and 
on  the  salutary  trains  of  feeling  which  the  kindness 
of  early  friends -awakened. 

Yet  his  constant  assertion  was,  "  My  vital  ener 
gies  are  wasted.  They  can  be  rekindled  no  more. 
Death  stand eth  at  my  right  hand.  When  I  came  to 
the  borders  of  this  valley,  my  poor,  swollen  limb  tot 
tered,  and  my  whole  frame  began  to  fail.  Then1  I 
besought  Him  whom  I  had  so  often  forgotten,  '  Oh  ! 
give  me  heart  and  hope,  and  hold  me  up  but  a  little 
while,  that  I  may  die  in  the  house  where  I  was  born, 
and  be  buried  at  the  feet  of  my  father  and  my  moth 
er.'  " 

The  suffering  and  humbled  man  sought  earnestly 
for  the  hope  of  salvation.  Feeling  that  a  great 
change  was  necessary  ere  he  could  be  fitted  for  a 
realm  of  purity  and  peace,  he  studied  the  Scriptures 
with  prayer,  and  listened  to  the  counsels  of  pious 
men. 

"  Brother,  dear  brother,  you  have  followed  the  ex 
ample  of  our  parents.  In  the  peaceful  pursuits  of 
agriculture,  your  life  has  flowed  on  like  an  unruffled 
stream.  I  chose  to  toss  among  whirlpools,  and  made 
shipwreck  of  all.  You  have  kept  the  law  of  love 


THE    PLOUGH    AND    THE    SWORD.  205 

even  with  inferior  creatures.  You  have  shorn  the 
fleece,  but  not  wantonly  destroyed  the  lamb.  You 
have  taken  the  honey,  and  spared  the  laboring  bee  ; 
but  I  have  destroyed  both  the  hive  and  the  honey, 
the  fleece  and  the  flock,  man  and  his  habitation.  I 
have  cruelly  defaced  the  image  of  God,  and  crush 
ed  out  that  breath  which  I  can  never  restore.  Bit 
ter  is  the  warfare  of  my  soul  with  the  prince  of  the 
power  of  the  air,  who  ruleth  the  children  of  disobe 
dience." 

As  the  last  hour  approached,  he  laid  his  cold  hands 
on  the  head  of  his  brother's  two  little  sons,  saying, 
with  solemn  emphasis, 

tl  Choose  the  plough,  and  not  the  sword  !" 

Tender  gratitude  lighted  up  the  glazing  eye  as  he 
faintly  uttered, 

"  Sister,  brother,  you  have  been  angels  of  mercy 
to  me.  Peace  be  in  your  hearts,  and  upon  your 
household." 

The  venerable  pastor,  who  had  been  the  teacher 
of  his  childhood,  and  the  comforter  of  his  sickness, 
stood  by  his  side  as  he  went  down  into  the  dark  val 
ley  of  the  shadow  of  death. 

"  My  son,  look  unto  the  Lamb  of  God." 

"  Yes,  father.  He  taketh  away  the  sin  of  the 
world." 

The  white-haired  man  lifted  up  a  fervent  suppli 
cation  for  the  departing  soul. 

.When   he   ceased,   the    eyes  of  the    dying  were 
closed.     There  was  no  more  heaving  of  the  breast 
Z 


266  THE    PLOUGH    AND    T  H  E    S  \V  O  K  D. 

or  gasping.     And  they  spoke  of  him  as  having  gone 
where  no  sin  or  sorrow  can  have  place. 

Yet  again  the  eyelids  trembled,  and  one  long, 
struggling  sigh  burst  from  the  marble  lips.  Bend 
ing  down,  the  mournful  brother  caught  the  last  sounds 
faint,  yet  tuneful,  "  Land  of  peace  !"  and  "  Savior  of 


THE   REVERSE. 


"  To  be  resigned  when  ills  betide, 
Patient  when  favors  are  denied, 

And  pleased  with  favors  given — 
Most  surely  this  is  Wisdom's  part: 
This  is  that  incense  of  the  heart 
Whose  fragrance  pleases  Heaven." 

COTTON. 


THE  REVERSE, 


"  HAVE  you  heard  the  news,  that  Mr.  Thomas 
Talmage  has  failed  1"  said  Miss  Cutts,  entering  a 
neighbor's  house  with  a  shawl  hastily  thrown  over 
her  head. 

"  You  don't  say  so  !" 

"Yes,  yes.  Every  thing  is  gone.  They  are  just 
as  poor  as  any  body  now." 

"  I  always  said  it  would  be  so.  Now  he  will  be 
for  taking  the  benefit  of  the  Bankrupt  Act,  and  liv 
ing  just  as  grand  as  ever,  and  his  poor  creditors  may 
go  whistle  for  their  pay.  No  matter  about  them." 

"  But  they  say  he  has  sold  his  horse,  and  given  up 
all  the  goods  in  his  great  store,  and  boasts  that  he'll 
pay  every  cent  that  he  owes,  and  this  afternoon  he 
is  going  to  sell  all  his  wife's  furniture  at  auction." 

"  Why,  she  must  be  real  angry,  I  declare.  Was 
he  necessitated  to  do  it,  do  you  suppose  1" 

"  I  can't  exactly  say  as  to  that.  Likely  he'd  be 
glad  of  a  little  money  to  put  in  his  pocket  after  his 
debts  are  paid,  and  so  he  sells  his  wife's  things  to 
get  it." 

"  That's  it,  I've  no  doubt.  But  come,  let's  go  to 
this  auction.  Money,  to  be  sure,  is  pretty  scarce 
Z  2 


270  THE    REVERSE. 

these  hard  times ;  but  I  guess  I'll  raise  a  little,  for  I 
do  so  want  to  see  the  inside  of  that  smart  house." 

"  Well,  I'll  call  for  you  just  at  two  o'clock.  Be 
sure  to  be  ready,  for  there'll  be  a  crowd,  I  expect. 
I  can't  say  but  I  should  like  to  see  how  these  gran- 
dees  look,  when  they  come  down  to  be  as  poor,  as 
other  folks." 

With  these  benevolent  intentions,  the  two  ladies 
proceeded,  at  the  first  ringing  of  the  small  auction 
bell,  to  the  dwelling  in  question.  Quite  a  throng 
soon  collected  there ;  some  desirous  to  inspect  a 
mansion  to  which  they  had  never  before  been  able 
to  gain  admittance,  others  resolved  to  purchase,  pro 
vided  they  could  get  articles  far  below  their  real 
worth.  In  various  recesses  and  corners  of  the  am 
ple  house  there  was  much  gossiping. 

"  Now,  do  tell  if  that  is  Miss  Tom  Tammage  ] 
Why,  her  gingham  gown  is  not  a  bit  better  than 
mine,  and  her  hair  is  just  as  plain  as  a  pike-staff." 

"  I  railly  supposed  nothing  but  the  silks  and  the 
satins  would  answer  her  purpose.  Well,  she  has 
had  her  day.  I  always  knew  that  top-knots  must 
come  down." 

"I  wonder  how  she'll  relish  trudging  in  the  mud 
like  my  darters.  They  are  full  as  good  as  she,  1 
reckon,  though  they  have  not  been  brought  up  to 
have  a  gay  horse,  and  gig,  and  driver  too,  at  their 
beck." 

In  the  mean  time,  the  fair  young  creature,  who 
was  the  subject  of  this  discussion,  with  her  calm 


THE    REVERSE.  271 


brow,  and  more  graceful  in  her  plain,  neat  dress, 
than  in  the  costliest  array,  was  ready  to  render  her 
aid,  or  reply  to  any  interrogation  that  might  facili 
tate  the  sale  of  their  effects.  Possibly  she  was  not 
prepared  for  all  the  rude  remarks  of  selfish  dealers, 
or  to  see  so  minutely  illustrated  the  graphic  descrip 
tion  of  the  King  of  Israel :  ''  It  is  naught,  it  is  naught, 
saith  the  buyer ;  but  when  he  goeth  his  way,  then  he 
boasteth." 

"  I  take  it  that  bed  is  under  the  usual  weight,  Mr. 
Auctioneer !" 

"  Fifty-two  pounds." 

"And  the  bolster  and  pillows'!" 

"  Nine  and  a  half." 

"  I  guess  they  ai-e  nothing  but  old  feathers  put 
into  new  ticks,"  said  a  waddling  old  lady,  who  was, 
however,  eager  in  bidding  thirty-five  cents  a  pound, 
thirty-five  and  a  quarter,  thirty-five  and  a  half,  and 
so  on,  until  she  conquered,  at  thirty-nine  and  three 
quarters,  her  competitors,  and  at  a  convenient  time 
extolled  the  excellence  of  the  article  she  had  so  stu 
diously  decried. 

"  The  state  of  them  Brussels  carpets  is  a  shame," 
said  a  busy  personage,  whose  daughter,  contempla 
ting  matrimony,  was  eyeing  them  with  irrepressible 
desire.  "  Miss  Tom  Talmage  never  had  a  chick  or 
child  to  wear  out  any  thing,  and  I'm  sure  they're 
desp'ate  defaced.  Look  !  look  !"  (bending  double 
and  peering  through  her  spectacles)  "  is  not  that  an 
ile-spot  1  And  them  'ere  marble-topped  tables  ar.e 


272  THE    REVERSE. 

considerable  out  o'  fashion ;"  hastening,  however,  to 
purchase  them,  and  superintending  their  removal 
with  an  inward  chuckle  of  delight. 

A  similar  struggle  went  on  among  persons  of 
lighter  purses,  concerning  the  kitchen  utensils. 
"  You  can't  in  conscience  ask  much  for  that  lot  of 
worn-out  tins,  Mr.  Auctioneer.  They  are  scoured 
up  pretty  bright  for  the  occasion,  but  they  are  e'en- 
a-just  ruined,  for  all  that.  The  major  part  of  them 
arn't  worth  carrying  home,  I  declare." 

The  shrewd  housekeeper  who  secured  them  was 
heard  to  say  to  her  husband  that  evening,  that  she 
had  made  a  grand  bargain,  and  got  them  at  about  a 
quarter  of  their  true  value ;  and,  while  she  extolled 
her  own  sharpness,  added,  "  She'd  be  bound  the  peo 
ple  who  sold  them,  would  not  get  as  many  more  good 
things  to  eat,  as  had  already  been  cooked  in  them." 

The  auction  was  nearly  finished,  and  most  of  the 
purchasers  had  withdrawn,  when  a  coarse-featured 
woman,  with  a  patronizing  air,  said,  in  a  half- whisper, 

"  Miss  Tammage,  you  ha'n't  got  a  new  gound  or 
two,  have  you,  that  you'd  sell  cheap  ]" 

Mr.  Talmage  colored,  and  drawing  the  hand  of 
his  wife  within  his  arm,  would  have  led  her  away ; 
but  with  a  sweet,  confiding  glance,  and  a  few  whis 
pered  words,  she  assured  him,  and  he  gazed  at  her 
with  a  tender  respect,  as  on  a  superior  being.  Her 
clear,  good  sense  convinced  her,  that  her  wardrobe 
comprised  some  articles  which,  in  the  changed  state 
of  their  fortunes,  would  be  both  useless  and  inappro- 


THE    REVERSE.       .  273 

priate,  and  with  perfect  good  temper  she  produced 
them.  The  lady  minutely  examined  their  fabric  and 
fashion,  professed  both  to  be  in  fault,  and  vastly  in 
ferior  to  what  she  expected,  yet,  after  cheapening 
them  to  the  lowest  point,  possessed  herself  of  them, 
and  exhibited  them  afterward  to  her  friends  who 
called  as  some  of  the  "  trappings  which  the  proud 
Miss  Tom  Tammage,  the  broken  marchant's  wife, 
was  glad  enough  to  sell." 

When  night  came,  the  house  of  Mr.  Talmage  was 
stripped  both  of  its  ornaments  and  comforts.  It  was 
empty,  but  not  deserted,  for  in  it  were  hearts  sustain 
ed  by  the  consciousness  of  rectitude,  and  firmly  re 
solved  in  duty ;  hearts  united  in  love,  submissive  to 
the  Divine  will,  and  strong  to  strengthen  each  other. 
The  former  master  and  mistress  of  this  once  elegant 
mansion,  sat  together  upon  a  coarse  joint-stool,  near 
a  few  coals  in  the  kitchen  grate.  A  candle,  placed 
in  the  neck  of  a  bottle — for  every  lamp  and  candle 
stick  had  been  sold — and  a  little  ink  in  the  bottom  of 
a  broken  tea-cup,  aided  them  in  the  arithmetical  cal 
culations  which  they  were  busily  making. 

"  Husband,  am  I  right  ]"  said  a  clear,  animated 
voice;  "am  I  right?  My  little  account-book  here 
gives  a  result  that  we  are  able  to  pay  all  our  debts." 

"  Yes,  dearest,  all,  every  one  in  full  j  and  this  auc 
tion  leaves  us  a  little  surplus." 

"  God  be  thanked  !     What  heartfelt  happiness  !" 

"  But,  Mary,  how  different  must  our  mode  of  life 
be  from  what  you  have  been  accustomed  to,  and  the 
18 


274  .       THE    REVERSE. 

prospects  that  you  had  a  right  to  encourage  at  the 
time  of  our  marriage.  I  could  not  bear  to  see  that 
costly  and  tasteful  furniture,  which  I  can  never  re 
place,  taken  away  from  yon.  Those  beautiful  sofas, 
on  which  you  used  to  love  to  rest  after  a  long  walk, 
cost  me  many  a  pang." 

"  See  if  we  will  not  be  just  as  happy  without  them. 
Indeed,  if  God  pleases,  we  will  be  a  great  deal  hap 
pier  than  ever  we  have  been.  A  life  of  fashion  is 
not  agreeable  to  either  of  us.  To  tell  the  truth,  I 
have  long  suffered  anxiety,  not  that  I  thought  we 
were  inclined  to  extravagance,  but  our  situation 
forced  us  to  many  useless  expenses,  and  the  press 
ure  of  the  times  on  mercantile  effort  made  me  so 
fear  that  some  misfortune  would  come,  and  leave  us 
unable  fully  to  pay  our  debts.  Now  no  human  be 
ing  will  suffer  by  us." 

"  Yet  we  have  but  a  mere  pittance  left." 

"  Never  mind ;  it  is  our  own.  Poverty  is  better 
than  unjust  gain.  I  would  not  like  to  tread  upon 
nice  carpets,  and  feel  that  those  whom  we  owed  were 
reproaching  us.  How  sweetly  shall  we  rest  to-night, 
every  claim  discharged,  and  the  injunction  obeyed 
to  '  owe  no  man  any  thing,  except  to  love  one  an 
other.'  " 

"  I  bless  God  for  your  fortitude,  for  your  cheering 
smiles.  They  put  new  life  into  me." 

These  expressions  of  commendation  and  love,  so 
dear  to  the  heart  of  a  wife,  were  interrupted  by  a  faint 
knock  at  the  door.  A  poor  boy  was  found  standing 


THE    REVERSE.  275 


on  the  threshold,  who  had  occasionally  been  employ 
ed  in  the  lower  services  about  the  store  or  the  house. 
He  was  in  tears,  and  with  faltering  words  expressed 
his  desire  to  live  with  them.  He  said  he  had  no  pa 
rents,  no  friends  able  to  take  care  of  him,  and  that 
the  voice  of  the  kind  lady,  who  had  sometimes  spok 
en  to  him  when  he  brought  a  parcel,  reminded  him 
of  that  of  his  dead  mother. 

"  We  are  poor  ourselves  now,  my  boy,"  said  Mr. 
Talmage.  "  We  can  do  nothing  for  you.  We  are  to 
move  away  in  a  few  days." 

"  Please  to  let  me  go  with  you  ;  please  do  /" 

The  lady  looked  imploringly  at  her  husband. 

"  What,  my  Mary  ?" 

"  Let  us  take  him,  and  trust  that  He  who  feedeth 
the  sparrows  will  not  fail  to  provide  for  the  orphan." 

The  husband  assented,  more  because  his  wife  de 
sired  it,  than  from  any  conviction  of  expediency. 
Poor  Richard  thankfully  received  a  portion  of  the 
baker's  loaf  which  had  been  left  from  their  evening's 
repast,  and  slept  soundly  on  the  temporary  bed  the 
kind  lady  spread  for  him. 

The  next  week  the  family  became  residents  of  a 
distant,  agricultural  village.  They  rented  a  few 
acres  of  land,  and  a  small  tenement,  furnished  only 
with  what  was  necessary  for  comfort.  Yet  the  per 
fect  neatness  that  reigned  there  was  beautiful ;  and 
when  the  occupations  of  the  day  were  past,  and  by 
the  bright  lamp,  Mr.  Talmage  read  aloud  from  some 
one  of  the  books  which  they  retained  as  chosen  com- 


270  THE    REVERSE. 

panions,  his  wife  seated  by  his  side  with  her  needle 
or  knitting- work ;  the  beaming  smile,  the  animated 
remark,  the  occasional  song,  involuntarily  bursting 
forth,  showed  how  serene  and  sincere  was  their  en 
joyment.  A  summer  or  two  spent  in  the  country 
during  his  youth  had  given  him  a  taste  for  rural 
employment ;  and  now  freedom  from  the  harassing 
cares  of  business,  with  a  life  of  simplicity  and  active 
exercise,  imparted  a  degree  of  health  which  he  had 
never  before  enjoyed.  His  wife  also  found  her  elas 
ticity  of  spirits  proportionally  heightened,  while  the 
charge  of  her  household,  her  earnestness  to  learn  the 
policy,  and  promote  the  welfare  of  the  poultry  and 
bees — whom  she  styled  her  own  immediate  subjects 
— and  her  interest  in  all  that  her  husband  undertook, 
particularly  in  the  pursuits  of  horticulture,  occupied 
her  both  usefully  and  pleasantly.  Richard  proved 
himself  an  invaluable  assistant,  having  considerable 
knowledge  of  practical  agriculture,  acquired  by  pass 
ing  his  early  childhood  on  a  farm,  while  his  gratitude 
to  his  benefactors  prompted  the  most  untiring  efforts. 
The  state  of  society,  as  is  often  the  case  in  our 
agricultural  villages,  was  marked  by  intelligence, 
morality,  and  a  disposition  for  friendly  intercourse. 
The  new-comers  were  greeted  with  kindness,  and 
ready  to  reciprocate  it,  and  to  take  part  in  those  so 
cial  duties  which  give  due  exercise  to  the  tender 
Christian  sympathies.  Their  moderated  desires  em 
braced,  at  first,  only  the  prospect  of  a  living,  free 
from  debt,  with  the  satisfaction  of  being  able  to  aid 


THE    REVERSE.  277 

those  who  might  need  their  charity.  More  than  this 
came,  almost  without  their  seeking.  As  from  prin 
ciple  they  wasted  nothing,  their  small  gains  annually 
accumulated,  until  they  became  owners  of  the  spot 
where  they  were  originally  tenants,  and  which  had 
constantly  been  improving  under  their  occupancy. 
Thus  years  fled  away,  until  faithful  Richard,  desir 
ing,  with  their  entire  approbation,  to  marry  a  deserv 
ing  young  woman,  it  was  decided  to  intrust  to  their 
tenantry  the  place  hitherto  occupied,  and  erect  a  new 
habitation  on  some  land  recently  purchased. 

Soon  a  tasteful  cottage  reared  its  white  front  on  a 
neighboring  knoll,  with  a  lofty  walnut-grove  for  a 
background.  An  acacia-hedge,  intermingled  at  reg 
ular  intervals  with  the  graceful  sumach,  bordered  its 
sloping  lawn  ;  and  the  fruit-trees,  which  had  been 
prospectively  planted,  were  in  full  prosperity.  Flow 
ering  shrubs  and  vines  imbowered  the  lovely  man 
sion,  clustering  roses  adorned  the  winding  gravel- 
walk,  and  a  noble,  drooping  elm,  in  patriarchal  maj 
esty,  spread  its  broad  arms  over  the  rustic  gate.  The 
traveler  often  paused  to  admire  the  symmetry  and 
simple  elegance  of  the  building,  and  the  quiet  re 
pose  of  the  shades  that  imbosomed  it. 

There,  still  in  those  habits  of  rural  industry  which 
promote  and  preserve  health,  but  in  the  enjoyment 
of  all  the  leisure  they  could  desire,  and  which  they 
so  well  knew  how  to  render  improving  both  to  them 
selves  and  others,  their  time  passed  in  felicity  and  in 
love.  The  lady  of  the  cottage,  as  years  flowed  on, 
A  A 


278  THE    REVERSE. 


delighted  more  and  more  in  the  society  of  the  young 
of  her  own  sex,  because  she  felt  that  it  was  in  her 
power  to  do  them  good.  The  inhabitants  of  the  vil 
lage,  knowing  that  she  had  enjoyed  the  advantages 
of  a  superior  education,  were  anxious  that  such  of 
their  daughters  as  had  attained  sufficient  age  to  ap 
preciate  its  value,  should  profit  by  intercourse  with 
her.  Yielding  to  their  solicitations,  she  consented 
to  give  them  regular  instruction  in  the  studies  and 
accomplishments  that  were  to  her  familiar.  Four 
afternoons  in  the  week,  she  saw  her  parlor  pleasant 
ly  filled  with  the  bright  faces  of  the  young  whom 
she  loved,  and  by  whom  she  was  beloved  in  return. 
While  imparting  to  their  docile  rninds  the  healthful 
aliment  of  knowledge,  she  was  sometimes  led  silent 
ly  to  contrast  the  pure,  unostentatious  pleasure  which 
she  thus  enjoyed,  with  that  period  of  wasting  excite 
ment  when  the  splendor  of  her  dress,  or  the  elegance 
of  her  entertainments,  won  the  adulation  of  a  heart 
less  throng,  she  herself  wearied  and  ill  content  with  a 
profitless  existence.  Striving  to  prepare  her  pupils 
for  the  faithful  and  graceful  discharge  of  every  fem 
inine  duty,  she  earnestly  impressed  those  precepts 
of  morality  and  piety,  whose  sustaining  influences 
she  had  from  her  youth  experienced.  Some  of  her 
favorite  lessons  were,  that  there  may  be  happiness, 
respectability,  and  influence,  without  wealth ;  that 
the  pursuit  of  it,  as  the  main  object  of  life,  is  mistak 
en  and  dangerous ;  that  all  expenditure  beyond  in 
come  is  injustice ;  and  that  to  live  in  luxury  upon 


THE    REVERSE.  279 

the  property  of  others,  withheld  from  them  against 
their  will,  and  to  their  inconvenience  or  suffering, 
is  a  sin  against  conscience,  of  which  no  consistent 
Christian  could  be  guilty.  "  Pay  your  debts,  my 
dear  young  friends,"  she  would  say,  "  and  when  you 
have  husbands,  do  not  lead  them  into  extravagance, 
but  be  their  helpers." 

The  good  she  accomplished,  and  the  affection  she 
acquired  by  her  judicious  labors  as  a  teacher,  could 
not  be  bounded  by  this  fleeting  existence.  And  as 
the  husband  and  wife,  arm  in  arm,  walked,  at  the 
close  of  day,  around  the  grounds,  which  every  year 
became  more  beautiful,  they  said  to  each  other, 
"  How  much  higher  enjoyment  have  we  here  found 
than  great  riches,  with  their  cares  and  dangers,  could 
have  afforded  ;  and  how  superior  is  the  quiet  rest  of 
an  approving  heart  to  the  pursuit  of  those  shadows 
which  the  gay  world  calls  happiness." 


THE   LOST   CHILDREN. 


AA  2 


"  I  ask  the  moon,  so  sadly  fair, 

The  night's  cold  breath  through  shadows  drawn, 
'Where  are  they  who  were  mine?  and  where?' 
A  void  but  answers,  '  All  are  gone.'  " 

Miss  H.  F.  GOULD. 


THE    LOST   CHILDREN. 


THERE  was  sickness  in  the  dwelling  of  the  emi 
grant.  Stretched  upon  his  humble  bed,  he  depended 
on  that  nursing  care  which  a  wife,  scarcely  less  en 
feebled  than  himself,  was  able  to  bestow.  A  child, 
in  its  third  summer,  had  been  recently  laid  to  its  last 
rest  beneath  a  turf  mound  under  their  window.  Its 
image  was  in  the  heart  of  the  mother,  as  she  tender 
ly  ministered  to  her  husband. 

"  Wife,  I  am  afraid  I  think  too  much  about  poor 
little  Thomas.  He  was  so  well  and  rosy  when  we 
left  our  old  home  scarcely  a  year  since.  Sometimes 
I  feel,  if  we  had  but  continued  there,  our  darling 
would  not  have  died." 

The  tear  which  had  long  trembled,  and  been  re 
pressed  by  the  varieties  of  conjugal  solicitude,  burst 
forth  at  these  words.  It  freely  overflowed  the  brim 
ming  eyes,  and  relieved  the  suffocating  emotions 
which  had  striven  for  the  mastery. 

"  Do  not  reproach  yourself,  dear  husband.  His 
time  had  come.  He  is  happier  there  than  here. 
Let  us  be  thankful  for  those  that  are  spared." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  the  little  girls  are  growing 
pale.  I  am  afraid  you  confine  them  too  closely  to 
this  narrow  house,  and  to  the  sight  of  sickness.  The 


284  THE    LOST    CHILDREN. 

weather  is  growing  settled.  You  had  better  send 
them  out  to  change  the  air,  and  run  about  at  their 
will.  Mary,  lay  the  baby  on  the  bed  by  me,  and  ask 
mother  to  let  little  sister  and  you  go  out  for  a  ram 
ble." 

The  mother  assented,  and  the  children,  who  were 
four  and  six  years  old,  departed  full  of  delight.  A 
clearing  had  been  made  in  front  of  their  habitation, 
and,  by  ascending  a  knoll  in  its  vicinity,  another 
dwelling  might  be  seen,  environed  with  the  dark 
spruce  and  hemlock.  In  the  rear  of  these  houses 
was  a  wide  expanse  of  ground,  interspersed  with 
thickets,  rocky  acclivities,  and  patches  of  forest  trees, 
while  far  away  one  or  two  lakelets  peered  up,  with 
their  blue  eyes  deeply  fringed.  The  spirits  of  the 
children,  as  they  entered  this  uninclosed  region,  were 
like  those  of  the  birds  that  surrounded  them.  They 
playfully  pursued  each  other  with  merry  laughter, 
and  such  a  joyous  sense  of  liberty  as  makes  the  blood 
course  lightsomely  through  the  veins. 

"  Little  Jane,  let  us  go  farther  than  ever  we  have 
before.  We  will  see  what  lies  beyond  those  high 
hills,  for  it  is  but  just  past  noon,  and  we  can  get  back 
long  before  supper-time." 

"  Oh  !  yes,  let  us  follow  that  bright  bluebird,  and 
see  what  he  is  flying  after.  But  don't  go  in  among 
those  briers  that  tear  the  clothes  so,  for  mother  has 
no  time  to  mend  them." 

"  Sister,  sweet  sister,  here  are  some  snow-drops  in 
this  green  hollow,  exactly  like  those  in  my  old,  dear 


THE    LOST    CHILDREN.  285 

gaixlen  so  far  away.  How  pure  they  are,  and  cool, 
just  like  the  baby's  face,  when  the  wind  blows  on  it ! 
Father  and  mother  will  like  us  to  bring  them  some." 

Filling  their  little  aprons  with  the  spoil,  and  still 
searching  for  something  new  or  beautiful,  they  pro 
longed  their  ramble,  unconscious  of  the  flight  of  time, 
or  the  extent  of  space  they  were  traversing.  At 
length,  admonished  by  the  chilliness,  which  often 
marks  the  declining  hours  of  the  early  days  of 
Spring,  they  turned  their  course  homeward.  But 
the  returning  clew  was  lost,  and  they  walked  rapidly, 
only  to  plunge  more  inextricably  in  the  mazes  of  the 
wilderness. 

"  Sister  Mary,  are  these  pretty  snow-drops  good  to 
eat  1  I  am  so  hungry,  and  my  feet  ache,  and  will 
not  go." 

"  Let  me  lift  you  over  this  brook,  little  Jane,  and 
hold  tighter  by  my  hand,  and  walk  as  brave  as  you 
can,  that  we  may  get  home,  and  help  mother  set  the 
table." 

"  We  won't  go  so  far  the  next  time,  will  we  ? 
What  is  the  reason  that  I  can  not  see  any  better  1" 

"  Is  not  that  the  roof  of  our  house,  dear  Jane,  and 
the  thin  smoke  curling  up  among  the  trees  1  Many 
times  before  have  I  thought  so,  and  found  it  only  a 
rock  or  a  mist." 

As  evening  drew  its  veil,  the  hapless  wanderers, 
bewildered,  hurried  to  and  fro,  calling  for  their  pa 
rents,  or  shouting  for  help,  until  their  strength  was 
exhausted.  Torn  by  brambles,  and  their  poor  feet 


286  THE    LOST    CHILDREN. 

bleeding  from  the  rocks  which  strewed  their  path, 
then  sunk  down,  moaning  bitterly.  The  fears  that 
overpower  the  heart  of  a  timid  child  who  for  the 
first  time  finds  night  approaching,  without  shelter  or 
protection,  wrought  on  the  youngest  to  insupportable 
anguish.  The  elder,  filled  with  the  sacred  warmth 
of  sisterly  affection,  after  the  first  paroxysms  of  grief, 
seemed  to  forget  herself,  and  sitting  upon  the  damp 
ground,  and  folding  the  little  one  in  her  arms,  rocked 
her  with  a  gentle  movement,  soothing  and  hushing 
her  like  a  nursling. 

"  Don't  cry  !  oh  !  don't  cry  so,  dearest ;  say  your 
prayers,  and  fear  will  fly  away." 

"  How  can  I  kneel  down  here  in  the  dark  woods, 
or  say  my  prayers,  when  mother  is  not  by  to  hear 
me  1  I  think  I  see  a  large  wolf,  with  sharp  ears,  and 
a  mouth  wide  open,  and  hear  noises  as  of  many  fierce 
lions  growling." 

"  Dear  little  Jane,  do  say,  '  Our  Father,  who  art 
in  heaven.'  Be  a  good  girl,  and,  when  we  have 
rested  here  a  while,  perhaps  He  may  be  pleased  to 
send  some  one  to  find  us,  and  to  fetch  us  home." 

Harrowing  was  the  anxiety  in  the  lowly  hut  of  the 
emigrant  when  day  drew  toward  its  close,  and  the 
children  came  not.  A  boy,  their  sole  assistant  in  the 
toils  of  agriculture,  at  his  return  from  labor,  was  sent 
in  search  of  them,  but  in  vain.  As  evening  drew  on, 
the  inmates  of  the  neighboring  house,  and  those  of 
a  small  hamlet  at  considerable  distance,  were  alarm 
ed,  and  associated  in  the  pursuit.  The  agony  of  the 


THE    LOST    CHILDREN.  287 

invalid  parents  through  that  night  was  uncontrolla 
ble  ;  starting  at  every  footstep,  shaping  out  of  every 
breeze  the  accents  of  the  lost  ones  returning,  or  their 
cries  of  misery.  While  the  morning  was  yet  gray, 
the  father,  no  longer  to  be  restrained,  and  armed 
with  supernatural  strength,  went  forth,  amid  the  rav 
ings  of  his  fever,  to  take  part  in  the  pursuit.  With 
fiery  cheeks,  his  throbbing  head  bound  with  a  hand 
kerchief,  he  was  seen  in  the  most  dangerous  and  in 
accessible  spots — caverns — ravines — beetling  cliffs — 
leading  the  way  to  every  point  of  peril,  in  the  phren- 
sy  of  grief  and  disease. 

The  second  night  drew  on,  with  one  of  those  sud 
den  storms  of  sleet  and  snow,  which  sometimes  chill 
the  hopes^of  the  young  Spring.  Then  was  a  sadder 
sight — a  woman  with  attenuated  form,  flying  she 
knew  not  whither,  and  continually  exclaiming,  "  My 
children  !  my  children  !"  It  was  fearful  to  see  a 
creature  so  deadly  pale,  with  the  darkness  of  mid 
night  about  her.  She  heeded  no  advice  to  take  care 
of  herself,  nor  persuasion  to  return  to  her  home. 

"  They  call  me  !  Let  me  go !  I  will  lay  them  in 
their  bed  myself.  How  cold  their  feet  are  !  What ! 
is  Jane  singing  her  nightly  hymn  without  me  ?  No  ! 
no!  She  cries!  Some  evil  serpent  has  stung  her;" 
and,  shrieking  wildly,  the  poor  mother  disappeared, 
like  a  hunted  deer,  in  the  depths  of  the  forest. 

Oh  !  might  she  but  have  wrapped  them  in  her  arms, 
as  they  shivered  in  their  dismal  recess,  under  the 
roots  of  a  tree  uptorn  by  some  wintery  tempest !  Yet 


288  THE    LOST    CHILDREN. 

how  could  she  imagine  the  spot  where  they  lay,  or 
believe  that  those  little  wearied  limbs  had  borne 
them,  through  bog  and  bramble,  more  than  six  miles 
from  the  parental  door  1  In  the  niche  which  we 
have  mentioned,  a  faint  moaning  sound  might  still 
be  heard. 

"  Sister,  do  not  tell  me  that  we  shall  never  see  the 
baby  any  more.  I  see  it  now,  and  Thomas  too ! 
dear  Thomas !  Why  do  they  say  he  died  and  was 
buried  1  He  is  close  by  me,  just  above  my  head. 
There  are  many  more  babies  with  him — a  host. 
They  glide  by  me  as  if  they  had  wings.  They  look 
warm  and  happy.  I  should  be  glad  to  be  with  them, 
and  join  their  beautiful  plays.  But  O,  how  cold  I 
am  !  Cover  me  close,  Mary.  Take  my  head  into 
your  bosom." 

"  Pray  do  not  go  to  sleep  quite  yet,  dear  Jane.  I 
want  to  hear  your  voice,  and  talk  with  you.  It  is  so 
very  sad  to  be  waking  here  alone.  If  I  could  but 
see  your  face  when  you  are  asleep,  it  would  be  a 
comfort.  But  it  is  so  dark,  so  dark  /" 

Rousing  herself  with  difficulty,  she  unties  her 
apron,  and  spreads  it  over  the  head  of  the  child,  to 
protect  it  from  the  driving  snow ;  she  pillows  the 
cold  cheek  on  her  breast,  and  grasps  more  firmly 
the  benumbed  hand  by  which  she  had  so  faithfully 
led  her,  through  all  their  terrible  pilgrimage.  There 
they  are !  One  moves  not.  The  other  keeps  vigil, 
feebly  giving  utterance,  at  intervals,  to  a  low,  suffo 
cating  spasm  from  a  throat  dried  with  hunger. 


THE    LOST    CHILDREN.  -289 


Once  more  she  leans  upon  her  elbow,  to  look  on  the 
face  of  the  little  one,  for  whom  as  a  mother  she  has 
cared.  With  love  strong  as  death,  she  comforts  her 
self  that  her  sister  slumbers  calmly,  because  the 
stroke  of  the  destroyer  has  silenced  her  sobbings. 

Ah  !  why  came  ye  not  hither,  torches  that  gleam 
through  the  wilderness,  and  men  who  shout  to  each 
other  ?  why  came  ye  not  this  way  1  See !  they  plunge 
into  morasses,  they  cut  their  path  through  tangled 
thickets,  they  ford  waters,  they  ascend  mountains, 
they  explore  forests — but  the  lost  are  not  found ! 

The  third  and  fourth  nights  come  and  depart. 
Still  the  woods  are  filled  with  eager  searchers.  Sym 
pathy  has  gathered  them  from  remote  settlements. 
Every  log-cabin  sends  forth  what  it  can  spare  for  this 
work  of  pity  and  of  sorrow.  They  cross  each  other's 
track.  Incessantly  they  interrogate  and  reply,  but 
in  vain.  The  lost  are  not  found  ! 

In  her  mournful  dwelling,  the  mother  sat  motion 
less.  Her  infant  was  upon  her  lap.  The  strong  duty 
to  succor  its  helplessness,  grappled  with  the  might  of 
grief  and  prevailed.  Her  eyes  were  riveted  upon 
its  brow.  No  sound  passed  her  white  lips.  Pitying 
women,  from  distant  habitations,  gathered  around 
and  wept  for  her.  They  even  essayed  some  words 
of  consolation.  But  she  answered  nothing.  She 
looked  not  toward  them.  She  had  no  ear  for  human 
voices.  In  her  soul  was  the  perpetual  cry  of  the  lost. 
Nothing  overpowered  it,  but  the  wail  of  her  living 
babe.  She  ministered  to  its  necessities,  and  that 
19  B  u 


290  THE    LOST    CHILDREN. 

Heaven-inspired  impulse  saved  her.  She  had  no  lon 
ger  any  hope  for  those  who  had  wandered  away. 
Horrid  images  were  in  her  fancy — the  ravening  beast 
— black  pits  of  stagnant  water — birds  of  fierce  beak — 
venomous,  coiling  snakes.  She  bowed  herself  down 
to  them,  and  travailed  as  in  the  birth-hour,  fearfully 
and  in  silence.  But  the  helpless  babe  on  her  bosom 
touched  an  electric  chord,  and  saved  her  from  de 
spair.  Maternal  love,  with  its  pillar  of  cloud  and  of 
flame,  guided  her  through  the  desert,  that  she  per 
ished  not. 

Sunday  came,  and  the  search  was  unabated.  It 
seemed  only  marked  by  a  deeper  tinge  of  melan 
choly.  The  most  serious  felt  it  fitting  to  go  forth  at 
that  sacred  season  to  seek  the  lost,  though  not,  like 
their  Master,  girded  with  the  power  to  save.  Pa 
rents  remembered  that  it  might  have  been  their  own 
little  ones  who  had  thus  strayed  from  the  fold,  and 
with  their  gratitude  took  a  portion  of  the  mourner's 
spirit  into  their  hearts.  Even  the  sad  hope  of  gath 
ering  the  dead  for  the  sepulchre,  the  sole  hope  that 
now  sustained  their  toil,  began  to  fade  into  doubt. 
As  they  climbed  over  huge  trees,  which  the  winds  of 
winter  had  prostrated,  or  forced  their  way  among 
rending  brambles,  sharp  rocks,  and  close- woven 
branches,  they  marveled  how  s'uch  fragile  forms  could 
have  endured  hardships  by  which  the  vigor  of  man 
hood  was  impeded  and  perplexed. 

The  echo  of  a  gun  rang  suddenly  through  the  for 
est.  It  was  repeated.  Hill  to  hill  bore  the  thrilling 


THE    LOST    CHILDREN.  291 

message.  It  was  the  concerted  signal  that  their  anx 
ieties  were  ended.  The  hurrying  seekers  followed 
its  sound.  From  a  commanding  cliff  a  white  flag 
was  seen  to  float.  It  was  the  herald  that  the  lost 
were  found. 

There  they  were — near  the  base  of  a  wooded  hill- 
oc,  half  cradled  among  the  roots  of  an  uptorn  chest 
nut.  There  they  lay,  cheek  to  cheek,  hand  clasped 
in  hand.  The  blasts  had  mingled  in  one  mesh  their 
disheveled  locks,  for  they  had  left  home  with  their 
poor  heads  uncovered.  The  youngest  had  passed 
away  in  sleep.  There  was  no  contortion  on  her 
brow,  though  her  features  were  sunk  and  sharpened 
by  famine. 

The  elder  had  borne  a  deeper  and  longer  anguish. 
Her  eyes  were  open,  as  though  she  had  watched  till 
death  came  ;  watched  over  that  little  one,  for  whom, 
through  those  days  and  nights  of  terror,  she  had  cared 
and  son-owed  like  a  mother.  Strong  and  rugged  men 
shed  tears  when  they  saw  she  had  wrapped  her  in 
her  own  scanty  apron,  and  striven  with  her  embra 
cing  arms  to  preserve  the  warmth  of  vitality,  even 
after  the  cherished  spirit  had  fled  away.  The  glazed 
eyeballs  were  strained,  as  if,  to  the  last,  they  had 
been  gazing  for  her  father's  roof,  or  the  wreath  of 
smoke  that  should  guide  her  there. 

Sweet  sisterly  love  !  so  patient  in  all  adversity,  so 
faithful  unto  the  end,  found  it  not  a  Father's  house, 
where  it  might  enter  with  the  little  one,  and  be  sun 
dered  no  more  ?  Found  it  not  a  fold  whence  nrvlamb 


THE    LOST    CHILDREN. 


can  wander  and  be  lost  ?  a  mansion  where  there  is 
no  death,  neither  sorrow  nor  crying  ]  Forgot  it  not 
all  its  sufferings  for  joy  at  that  dear  Redeemer's  wel 
come,  which,  in  its  cradle,  it  had  been  taught  to  lisp 
—  "  Suffer  little  children  to  come  unto  me,  and  forbid 
them  not,  for  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  Heaven." 


THE  ENI>. 


A     000040148     9 


